Picking Up the Pieces
by Saturn Girl
Summary: Alternate post-S5, where Buffy never returned after "The Gift." After being released from prison, Faith tries to be a Slayer again and help Xander recover from a horrible tragedy. Sequel to my FX Reconnecting series, but can be read as a stand alone.
1. Part 1

I'm free...after five years, three months, and eighteen days, I'm finally back in the game. It's wicked cool to look out the bus window and see the world whiz by, like I'm watching life on fast forward. I really need the change after so many years of the same old shitty routine, day in and day out. Everything looks brand new, like I've never seen it a hundred times before. I'm grinning like a spaz, but I can't help it. I never thought I'd get excited looking at cows, and trees, and motorhomes driven by old men in plaid hats!

It's funny all the things you take for granted, until everything is taken away.

Like Pop Tarts. God, I loved Pop Tarts! The blueberry kind, with the little sprinkles on top, hot out of the toaster. Closest thing to cooking I ever did. I missed munching on Pop Tarts while curled up in bed watching MTV, waitin' for the new Green Day video to play. Made me feel like a normal kid, instead of what I really was.

I was...am...a Slayer. There's nothing normal about being a Slayer. I mean, I never had a Brady Bunch childhood anyway, but getting tagged as the fucking Chosen One really killed any chance I had of being a regular teenager. Instead of sneaking smokes and hanging out behind the Quik Stop like I wanted to, I was busy slaying vampires, demons, and monsters and wondering what the hell I'd gotten myself into.

I used to think my childhood was terrible, filled with over friendly uncles, empty cupboards and empty stomachs, and a mom chugging Chivas at 8:00 in the morning. But once you slay a Ploordak demon whose just been chomping down on somebody's face like he's eating fried chicken, you start thinking that maybe an empty stomach ain't so bad.

Slaying...it's been a long time since I've done any of that. The only kind of monsters in prison are the human kind. Killing demons, good. Killing people, bad. That's where I screwed up. I got so wrapped up in slaying everything that tried to kick my ass, the line between right and wrong got really blurred. Death seemed like the easiest way to deal with anything that hurt me. Killing was the only thing I was ever good at, and what did that say about me?

But that was then. I'm different now. I've had five years to clear my head, and realize what's important. It took a long time, and a lot of bizarre little dreams with that mud-faced chick, for me to finally figure out what being a Slayer is really about.

I don't know how to describe Shitface; she was a total head-trip. She never told me her name, so that's what I called her. I think maybe she was a Slayer way back when people were all Clan of the Cave Bear, there wasn't any shampoo, and the closest thing to Maybelline was rubbing bird crap on her cheeks. I figured I'd drunk some bad prune-O the first time Shitface entered my dreams. Talking with her was like being on 'shrooms, everything distorted like a Nine Inch Nails video, and nothing she said made a whole lotta sense.

The first few times she started bugging me, I screamed at her to go away. Just leave me alone, so I could sit in my cell and rot to death, do penance for my whopping truckload of sins. I never went to Sunday school, but I'm pretty sure I committed four or five of the deadly ones. But Shitface kept coming back, and the dreams were so vivid, so...mystical. It was like she was trying to guide me.

In the visions, she reminded me about my responsibility. Being a Slayer ain't just about getting super powers, I've got a sacred duty to use 'em. Not to get my kicks, like I used to, but to actually make a difference. Shitface got me to face up to my gifts. I have to be the Slayer again. Not because the Geezer Council says so, but because people really need me. Buffy's gone, so the task of protecting the world lies in the hands of an ex-convict. Kinda scary, huh?

I told Angel about the dreams. Angel understands me better than anyone else on this planet, 'cause he's crossed the Evil County line, just like I have. I guess you could say he's kinda like my sponsor in the Recovering Homicidal Maniac twelve-step program. He'd visit me often, which I liked. Broke up the monotony of life in jail, helped me work stuff out, and he got to be a pretty good friend. That meant a lot, 'cause I can count the number of friends I have on one hand and still have enough fingers left to pick up a bowling ball.

I have another friend, one I've been wanting to see for over a year. Xander. If you'd told either one of us five years ago that we'd get to be tight, you'd have heard a big "yeah, right" from both of us. Not after all the shit I put him and his friends through. Not after I tried to kill him. I regret that I'll never be able to make things right for Finch's family, and that I couldn't patch things up with B before she died, but at least I got to apologize to Xander. He surprised the hell out of me by actually forgiving me. I don't know if I would've done the same, if our positions had been reversed. We started writing each other, and it felt really good knowing that I was able fix a small part of all the stuff I royally fucked up.

Xander couldn't visit as often as Angel, but he never forgot me. Because of him, I always got a Christmas present, or a card for my birthday. I really dug all his letters, because they meant someone actually gave a damn about me. Just knowing that I wasn't alone in this world meant more than any gift he could possibly buy.

We wrote about anything and everything. How crappy our parents were...the best B-movies...Scooby Gang gossip...the latest monster to hit Sunnydale...all our hopes, fears and dreams. Xander explained the best way to eat Oreos in order to minimize black cookie mouth. I taught him how to steal a Honda using a screwdriver. He also wrote a lot about his wife, Anya; sometimes about their sex-related arguments, but mostly about how happy they were together. With all the darkness that surrounded our lives, I was glad that Xander had found his shining light in Anya, but I also couldn't help wondering "what if" It's true what they say...all the good ones are married, undead, or gay.

I owe those two men everything. Angel gave me the strength to face my inner demons, and Xander gave me hope that my life could get better. I changed, all 'cause of them. I got my peace, now it's time to get down to work and prove myself. Hopefully make my guys proud.

I'm on my way back to Sunnydale, and I can't wait to see Xander. Not sure if I'm going to stay yet...I'm crossing my fingers that he wants me to. I got worried when the letters stopped six months ago. He's never gone that long without writing me, so I hope nothing's up. He doesn't know I've been released yet, so I hope he likes surprises!

…to be continued…


	2. Part 2

Ah, Sunnydale. Never thought I'd be glad to see this crummy place!  
  
As I grab my bag and head outside the bus terminal, I can't help but be a little bummed about some of the changes. For one thing, The Bronze is all boarded up, and the neighborhood is even shadier than when I left. There's a new discount super store where the old high school used to be. Great, not only do we have the Hellmouth, but now we've got fucking Walmart to deal with. I don't know which is worse...fighting an endless stream of demonic creatures, or fighting crowds of mullet-sporting trailer trash so I can save fourteen cents on a tube of lipstick. Despite the changes, I know one thing remains the same. Sunnydale is still crawling with bloodsuckers.  
  
It's dusk, so they'll be coming out to play soon. My skin has that electric, tingly feel I get when I'm ready to fight. Damn, I hope I'm up to it. I worked out a lot in the prison exercise yard, but I haven't actually killed anything since I went up the river. Well, it was touch and go with that skank, LaTecia, from Cell Block H. Girlfriend learned the hard way that she shouldn't mess with my stuff unless she wants to suck soup through a straw for the rest of her life.   
  
There's the cemetery. Sure brings back memories. I remember me and B, The Chosen Two, opening up a big ol' can of whupass as we staked the latest batch of ungrateful dead. When we were still friends, we made a helluva team.  
  
I miss her. I hate how I fucked things up between us. I never had a sister, but Buffy was about as close to one as I'll ever get. We sure fought like sisters...even over guys. She always got em, though. I'm the chick all the guys wanted to lay, but she's the one they all fell head over heels for. EVERYBODY loved Buffy: Angel...Riley...Xander. I was so jealous, I tried to take all of them for myself. Two out of three ain't bad. *grin*  
  
So this is it. Buffy's grave. "She saved the world... a lot." Yeah, she sure did. She was a real hero, bravest person I've ever met, not that I ever admitted that to her when she was alive.  
  
B, if you're watching from up there, please know that I'm going to work my ass off trying to be half the Slayer you were. I promise.  
  
Someone else came here recently to visit B. There are fresh flowers on the headstone...yellow daisies. I bet it was either Xander or Riley who put them here. Wonder if they're around?  
  
Xander told me that Soldier Boy showed up two years ago, back from his covert jungle missions and clueless about Buffy. Xander had to break the news to the poor guy. With Giles back in England, and Willow off getting her master's degree, Riley decided to stay in town to help Xander keep the locals in check. Since then, they've been Sunnydale's dynamic duo, fighting the good fight against all the creatures that go bump in the night. Dawn's still here, too, going the college thing and helping them out. I guess that kinda makes her Batgirl. Jesus, becoming friends with the X-Man sure has increased my geek IQ.  
  
Hmmm... sounds like a big scuffle over by the mausoleum. Party time!  
  
I drop my bag behind a shrub and grab the freshly whittled stake from my coat pocket. My juices start pumping as I make my way towards the fray. Five really gnarly vamps have some dude surrounded at the entrance. Five against one...he's seriously outnumbered. But not for long!  
  
"Excuse me?" Surprised, they all turn around to look at who interrupted their dinner. I wander closer. Little miss innocent.  
  
"Aren't you the Backstreet Boys? Oh, let's see...your music sucks the life out of people, you look like kids when you're really 35, and your career died a long time ago. The vampire thing suddenly makes a whole lotta sense..."  
  
Backstreet Boy #1 and #2 lick their lips and rush forward, while the other three laugh and hold their victim tightly, muffling his cries.  
  
"Oh, we're not pop stars, but we know all about making pretty girls like you scream!" The first vampire lunges forward and tries to grab me. Hey, watch the leather!  
  
With a flying kick, I knock #1 over a grave marker, and spin around to give #2 a chest full of wood. Poof! Exploding vampire! Yeah, I'm BACK! Faith the Vampire Slayer makes the world safer for...  
  
"OOPH!"  
  
My legs are swept out from under me and I fall flat on my ass. Crap, I got so cocky about dusting my first vampire in years, I almost forgot about the rest of 'em!  
  
Backstreet Boy #1 grins and tries to kick me in the face. I grab his ankle and twist, and he howls seconds after hearing a nasty crack. I yank him to the ground, jump on his chest, and plunge my stake home. He wilts into nothing between my thighs.  
  
*sigh*  
  
Am I really losing my touch if a guy can't stay hard while *I'm* straddling hhim?  
  
I hop up and smile as I turn to face the remaining vampires, ready to stop them from killing their hostage. As he tries to wrench himself free, the dark-haired man's eyes widen in recognition.  
  
Oh. My. God. I know him...it's Xander! They've got Xander!  
  
Shocked, I freeze. Dumb move! The biggest one punches me square in the face, and I go down, hard. I roll to the side when he tries to grab my hair. I pull myself up, and I can taste blood running down from my nose.  
  
I grit my teeth and lash out at Big Guy, peppering his face with brutal jabs as I force him back. I line him up for a roundhouse kick...but DAMN if I didn't just miss! Christ, I'm rusty...  
  
I gasp for breath as a new vampire pins me from behind, crushing the air out of my lungs and lifting me off the ground. Big Guy laughs as he leans in and cops a feel, lewdly running his tongue along his fangs. Pervert. I kick him in the nuts, but I can feel the one holding me getting ready to strike...  
  
"NO! Faith!!!" Xander pulls out of the vampire's grasp and pounds on the back of the Backstreet Boy who's trying to give me a hickey. While he's distracted, I dig in my heels and flip the vamp over my shoulders.  
  
"Come back here, meat!" The last vampire pounces on Xander and pins him to the ground while #3 and #4 slowly circle me. Xander struggles with his opponent, managing to knock him aside.  
  
Before the vampires can close in, one of 'em starts going all epileptic on me, and falls to the ground, twitching painfully. Taser. Where the hell did that come from?!  
  
Xander pulls out a stake and dusts the vampire he's been fighting. Big Guy goes rabbit on me, but before he gets away, I jump on his back and cram my stake in his heart. I tumble to the ground, breathing heavily. Shit, I forgot how tough this is. I've got a lot of catching up to do!  
  
As I get up, I see Riley Finn finish the stunned vampire on the ground, and then he smiles at me. "Nice moves you've got there, miss."  
  
I wipe the blood off my face. "My moves used to be a whole lot nicer...but then, you oughtta remember, Boy Scout!" I wink at him.  
  
"Faith?!!" Riley croaks. I smirk as I check him out from head to toe...one, two, three...there it is! Watch him squirm and blush! Oh, yeah. Maybe I haven't lost my touch after all. Riley nervously rubs his hand on his fatigues before he holds it out to shake. "Um, good to see you, Faith. Xander talks a lot about you."  
  
I shake his hand. "Ditto. Thanks for your help, by the way."  
  
Who would've thunk it? Riley shaking hands with the slut who bagged him right under his girlfriend's nose! Buffy must be rolling in her grave!  
  
There's Xander...just the man I want to see! After he rises wobbily to his feet and brushes grave dirt off his clothes, I slide over and hug him so tightly he squeaks. It feels so good to actually see him, touch him, after having only memories to keep me company for all these years.  
  
"Whoa, girl! Watch the ribs!" He hugs me, pecks me on the cheek, and rustles his fingers through my new cropped 'do. "You cut your hair!" He shoots me one of his patented goofy grins, and while I don't doubt that he's glad to see me, the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.  
  
"Check out the beard! I almost didn't recognize ya, Xand Man!" And it's true. Where did the sarcastic, fumbling boy with the lopsided grin and the Bambi eyes go?  
  
He still has those gorgeous, gentle brown eyes, but he's no boy anymore. The old Xander was soft, like a big, cuddly teddy bear, but the man standing in front of me is toughened from years of hard work and fighting vampires. I touch the long, angry scar running down the left side of his neck, new since the last time I saw him over a year ago. He flinches lightly, averting his eyes. I couldn't miss the flash of pain reflected there...obviously there isn't a funny "how I got this scab" story associated with the wound.  
  
Before I could get a question out, Xander piped up. "Hey, I didn't send you a cake with a file in it, so how'd you get sprung so early, jailbird?"   
  
I didn't notice it before, but his speech seems kind of...slow, thick. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he'd been drinking. Nah, he's probably just tired.  
  
"Believe it or not, good behavior. Some bitch tried to shank a guard, and I stopped it. My lawyer pulled some strings to shave a few months off my sentence, so here I am!"  
  
"That's a girl! I'm proud of you. It's really, really good to see you.   
You look...beautiful, Faith." He pats my arm appreciatively.  
  
I'm blushing! Grrr...Eyes in, girlfriend! Remember the gold ring he wears around his finger.  
  
Riley waves a beeping gizmo around. "I've swept the perimeter, and I'm not picking up any residual preternatural energy signatures in the vicinity. The coast is clear. Let's move out."  
  
You can take the man out of the Army, but you can't take the Army out of the man, I guess. I resist the urge to salute him.  
  
We all walk back to the shrub where I dumped my bag, and I can't wipe the big shit-eating grin off my face. We babble about my bus ride into town, what it's like to finally be a free woman, what my plans are now that I'm out. Man, it feels so good to be outside, slaying vamps again, talking to a couple of hotties. But underneath all the small talk, both Riley and Xander seem kind of tense.  
  
I knew as soon as he opened his mouth that Riley had a huge stick up his butt.   
  
"Xander, you didn't wait for backup before approaching the nest. Why didn't you follow the plan and rendezvous with me at 20:00? We need to stick together, buddy, or you could have gotten yourself killed!"  
  
Xander glared at the older man. "Chill out, Sergeant Rock! I'm fine! The vamps are toasted, the streets are safer, everything is just hunky dory."  
  
Riley's jaw tensed, and I realized he wasn't just angry, but also genuinely concerned.  
  
"Xander..."  
  
"Drop it, Riley. Just...let me enjoy visiting with Faith, okay? You can lecture me tomorrow."  
  
Something's going on between these two. Why does Riley seem so worried about him? "Everything okay, guys?"  
  
Riley gives Xander a sideward glance, but smiles and tells both of us to run off, grab a bite to eat, and catch up on old times. He's a decent guy, but I'm glad when Riley leaves so I can spend some alone time with Xander.  
  
He takes me to a diner on Fremont Avenue, and we chow down on what must be the best burgers I've ever had. But then, ketchup on stale crackers would taste great compared to the prison food I'm used to getting. He's unusually quiet as I ramble about how great it is to see him, how awesome it was to kick some vampire butt, and how I'm really looking forward to being a Slayer again. Xander really has changed a lot. There once was a time when I would have paid good money to get him to shut up for five minutes.  
  
"So, what's the plan, Stan? Got a place lined up to stay tonight?" he asked.  
  
"I figured I'd drop by the Y or something. I don't have a lot of cash on me, so until I find a job I've gotta live on the cheap. That reminds me, you're paying for dinner, moneybags."  
  
He grins as he pulls out his wallet and drops some bills on the table. "No way, you're not staying in some run down, roach-infested old YMCA when you can crash at my run down, roach-infested old house! C'mon, you're staying with me." He stands up and grabs my bag out from under the table and we exit the restaurant.  
  
"Really? You'd do that for me? Oh, I don't want to be any trouble...maybe you should call Anya and make sure she doesn't mind having an ex-lover as a houseguest...she might have a few objections to me being there, you know."  
  
Xander stops and looks down at the ground. "Um. That's not going to be a problem," he says sadly. "Anya's...gone."  
  
"What? Why didn't you tell me? Jesus, Xander, I'm sorry. Last time I heard from you, things were going great for you guys. What happened? When did she leave?"  
  
As a car passes by and shines its headlights on us, I see the torment in his eyes...eyes that are supposed to be shining and laughing and full of mischief, not haunted and sad.  
  
"She didn't divorce me, Faith. Anya's dead. She...she was killed three months ago."  
  
*** TO BE CONTINUED ***  
  
  
  



	3. Part 3

  
*ring ring*  
  
"...unh...h'lo?" He's not quite awake yet, but I don't care. I need to talk to somebody, and since the only other person in the world who will give me the time of day is the guy I'm freaking out about, Angel's elected.  
  
"Angel, why didn't you TELL me?" I'm trying to remain calm, but it's not working out too well.  
  
"Faith? What are you talking about? Tell you what, exactly?" asked Angel sleepily.  
  
"Duh! About Anya! Xander's wife! The whole being murdered thing! Shit, Angel, how could you let me come up here without telling me?" I'm upset, but I try to keep my voice down. Xander's in the shower, getting ready for work.  
  
"I...I didn't know. I'm sorry, Faith. Xander and I don't exactly keep in touch...it's not like he sends me Christmas cards." Pause. "When?"  
  
"Three months ago. He doesn't want to talk about it yet, but I can tell it was brutal. I think Xander's really messed up, Angel. I'm worried about him."  
  
Messed up. That's probably a huge understatement. He tries his best to hide it from me, but I can already see that Xander is not in a very good place right now. And I mean that literally...his house is a fucking sty. It's littered with pizza boxes, trash, dirty dishes, unwashed clothes, and empty cans. I don't think he was kidding about the roach infested comment last night.  
  
"Faith?" Angel's voice brings me back to reality again. "Do you want me to come up there?"  
  
"No. No, I'll be fine. You two never got along, so it probably isn't a good idea for you to be in Sunnydale right now." I don't mention that Riley, co-captain of the Unofficial I Hate Angel Society, is also in town. "But can you do me a favor and try to find out the details so I know what's going on? Maybe Queen C knows something."  
  
"No problem. I'll talk to Cordelia, and I'll try to reach Willow, too. I'll call you when I know anything." Another pause. "Xander and I aren't friends, but I am sorry for his loss. Be there for him, Faith."  
  
"Christ, Angel, I'm no good at this kind of thing! I'm a borderline basket case myself...how can I expect to help him through this?"  
  
"What did he do for you, when you were feeling low?"  
  
"Well...like you, he listened. He was just there, ya know? When I was completely fucked up, he treated me like a normal person, and didn't judge me. He just let me be me. When I vented about how life sucked, he agreed with me. When I needed someone to tell me I wasn't a monster, he reminded me about the good things. I'm tweaking, Angel. I don't know if I'm capable of being the kind of friend he needs. With stuff this intense, I tend to get that old fight or flight response. I'm scared I'm going to bolt."  
  
I don't tell him that I'm also worried about being selfish. That I'm nervous that the old Faith will rear her head and do something stupid and fuck his life up even more. He doesn't need to put up with any shit from me on top of mourning Anya. I don't want to hurt him again.  
  
"You won't. You care about him, Faith. I don't know why, I mean, the guy can be so obnoxious, like that whole annoying Dead Boy thing..."   
  
I interrupt his little tirade. "Bygones, Angel."  
  
"Uh, right. Sticking to the point. You care about Xander, and he'll feel that. Just knowing that he's not alone will help him a lot, Faith. You don't have to solve his problems for him, just be there to help him pick up the pieces."  
  
I can hear the shower shutting off, so I thank Angel for the pep talk and hang up the phone. Almost immediately, I hear a knock at the door.  
  
I pad over to the door, avoiding the junk on the floor, clad only in Xander's old Captain America t-shirt. I usually sleep naked, but figured I'd better cover up while I'm a guest. The old Faith wouldn't have given a shit and would have answered the door completely nude, but hey, I'm trying to reform my wicked ways.  
  
When I open the door, my heart stops beating.  
  
*Buffy!*  
  
No, not Buffy...Dawn. She's lightened her hair, and she's grown up so much, I can see why I'd mistake her for her sister. She's holding a Dunkin' Donuts bag, and when she sees me her face goes from Bouncy College Co-Ed to Frigid Ice Queen in less than 10 seconds.  
  
"What are you doing here?" she demands icily. If looks could kill, I'd be zipped up in a body bag. But I don't blame her. I did try to off her sister and several of her friends on more than one occasion. Not everyone can forgive Recovering Homicidal Maniacs. Emphasis on "recovering."  
  
Without waiting for an answer, she brushes past me and looks around. "You didn't kill him, did you? Old habits die hard, right Faith?"  
  
I clench my teeth and try to play nice. I'm not very good at nice. "I figured I'd wait until tomorrow before I kill him. Jesus, kid, cut me some slack! He's in the bathroom." I look at the bag in her hand. "Breakfast delivery?" Some things don't change...Dawn always did have a soft spot for the Xand Man.  
  
"They're not for you." She eyeballs me, obviously not happy to see me half-dressed in Xander's shirt.  
  
"Chill. I'm good. Xander has Pop Tarts, so I won't bogart his donuts."  
  
Xander walks out of the bathroom, bundled up in a bathrobe, his hair wet, his face and neck dotted with shaving cream where he'd trimmed his beard. He grins when he sees his new visitor.  
  
"Dawnster! How'd it go with the Psych test?" His smile fades a little when he senses the tension in the room. "Uh, so I guess you and Faith have had a chance to catch up..."  
  
"Xander, are you sure it's wise to harbor a criminal in your home? I don't want her to...you know...take advantage of you. " Dawn glares at me, and her meaning is clear: Hands off, slut.   
  
"Dawn! I invited Faith to stay here. She's my friend, and she's welcome to stay as long as she needs. She's served her time, so let's try to be a little more supportive, okay?" Xander gives Dawn a warning glance, and she relaxes a little. Instead of 30 degrees below zero, she warms up to just below freezing.  
  
"Thanks, Xan. I appreciate it." I smile at him, and I really mean it. I don't deserve his kindness, but I'll take it. Now that I'm back, I'm going to bust my ass to redeem myself. If I have to slay every last vampire in Sunnydale to prove I've changed, I'll do it, or die trying. I wander into the kitchen to give the two of them their space.  
  
"Xander...you swore to me that you'd pick this place up. I've seen garbage dumps that were more sanitary." Dawn looks downright maternal as she gives him a stern look and hands Xander the donuts. He shrugs his shoulders guiltily.  
  
"Well, you know, stuff came up, and there were some vampires, and there was that thing...nope. I got nothing. No excuses. I'll clean tonight, promise!" He ruffles her hair. "Thanks for the sugar boost, Dawnie. What would I do without you?"  
  
As I watch them banter from the kitchen, I begin to think I read her wrong. She loves him, but Dawn doesn't still have a crush on Xander, she's just trying to look out for him. She has the same concerned look in her eyes that Riley had last night. She came by to make sure he's okay; to check up on him.  
  
"See you tonight at the meeting?" asks Dawn hopefully.  
  
Xander hesitates. I can tell he doesn't want to go. Since when does Xander NOT want to go to a Scooby Gang meeting? But he nods his head and promises Dawn that he'll be there. That we'll both be there. Dawn gives me a skeptical look before she hitches her backpack over her shoulder, says goodbye, and leaves for class.  
  
I look at Xander as he comes into the kitchen to grab a glass of milk. When he finds no clean glasses, he chugs from the carton. Ugh. No milk for Faith today!  
  
"Really? You want me there?"  
  
"Yeah, Faith. You're the Slayer. Sunnydale needs a Slayer, right? We've gone without one for too long. Riley and I do our best, but we're not super people. The vampire population has exploded since Buffy died, and we need all the help we can get. Sunnydale needs a new hero, and that's you."  
  
I don't know what to say. It feels so good to feel wanted, needed. I hug him, and he holds me for a minute, rubbing my back gently. He smells so good, I don't want to let him go. Before it gets too awkward, I break away, making the excuse that I have to pee.  
  
When I come out, Xander is fully dressed, scarfing down donuts. When he finishes, he runs into the bathroom to dry his hair and brush his teeth. He tells me he left a twenty by the telephone in case I need to call a cab or order a pizza, and then he's off to work.  
  
After I've showered, gotten dressed, and eaten a whole box of Pop Tarts, I look around the house.  
  
No one has ever accused me of being Little Miss Anal Retentive (that would be Willow) but if I'm going to stay with Xander, I've got to be able to tell what color the carpet is. I'm going to clean this house from top to bottom, even if it takes me a year. Which, based on the weird fungus I saw growing in the kitchen, may not be a bad estimate. I'll feel better knowing that I've done something to earn my keep, anyway, and it may help cheer Xander up if his home is a little brighter.  
  
After two hours, I've made a little dent in the kitchen. The dishwasher is running (for the first time in a long time, I'll bet) and I've got all the counters scrubbed down. There's mail piled up on the dining room table, which I try to organize and pick out the junk flyers.  
  
My eyes pop out when I see Xander's MasterCard bill. How the heck did he rack up eight thousand dollars in debt? I know it's none of my business, but I can't help looking at the statement.   
  
When I see where he's been spending his money, I get even more confused. New York? Barcelona? Geneva? Thailand? What the fuck was Xander doing spending all his money traveling the world after Anya died? The dates on the credit card bill show he's been traveling in and out of the country for more than two months. I guess he's only been back home for a few weeks. No wonder the dishes in the sink looked so crusty. He hasn't been here.  
  
There's something else weird. A postcard, postmarked only three days ago.   
It's from Egypt, a picture of the pyramids, with a brief message:  
  
//X - The food is spectacular, wish you were here. - S.//  
  
Who is "S?" What the hell is going on? It's driving me crazy not knowing, but I try to push aside my curiosity and concentrate on cleaning. Xander will tell me the story when he's ready, and I don't want to push him.  
  
I'm shocked when I open the door to the master bedroom...not because it's filthy, but because it isn't. It's the only clean spot in the house, untouched, and the bed looks like it hasn't been slept in since...probably the day his wife died.   
  
I remember Xander mumbled something last night about not being able to sleep in their bed alone, and I can tell from the pillows and matted blankets in the living room that he's been crashing on the couch for a long time. Xander let me bunk on the futon in the guest bedroom.  
  
Looking at his bedroom, all closed off from the rest of the house, I know what it means to him. It's like a shrine. I think he keeps it this way to honor her, to remember her. I see her make-up spread out across the vanity, just as she left it. There's an empty glass on the nightstand, a faint lipstick print on the rim. There are pictures of the happy couple everywhere...their wedding photos, snapshots of past vacations, and one picture of them standing proudly in front of this house, keys in hand.  
  
Does he come in here often, I wonder? Does he sit on the bed and think of her, and everything he's lost? Feeling ashamed, like I've completely invaded his privacy, I close off the bedroom again.  
  
God, I'm so sorry Xander. I never knew Anya, just through your letters, but I know how much you loved her. I had no idea how much one person's life could change in six short months. I felt a little hurt that you hadn't written to me in so long. I hate that I was actually jealous, knowing that the reason you didn't have time to send me a letter was because you had your life with Anya. If I'd only known...I don't know what I could have done for you, Xander, but I hate that someone I care about is in so much pain.  
  
After I've filled up two garbage bags with crap, I drag them to the garage, where I assume he keeps his trashcans. I flip the light switch, and see that he converted his garage into a workshop. The shop is filled with all kinds of saws and lathes and carpentry tools, and the floor is covered with a smattering of sawdust. An unfinished project sits in the middle of the shop.  
  
I spot the trashcans in the far corner. I open the lid, and I'm not happy with what I find. Three empty vodka bottles.  
  
Shit. He was drinking yesterday! Do Dawn and Riley know? Is that why they're so worried about him? Things are not looking good in the Harris house. Dead wife, mounds of debt, problem drinking...he pretends otherwise, but Xander is in serious trouble.  
  
What am I going to say to him when he gets home? Consumed with worry, I deposit the trash, and head back inside. I almost exit the garage when something else hits me.  
  
Oh, no...  
  
I spin around to look at the piece of furniture he was working on, incomplete and sitting neglected on a workbench. When I realize what Xander was building, my heart sinks.  
  
It's a cradle.  
  
*** TO BE CONTINUED ***  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Part 4

  
I need a smoke.  
  
As I dig through my duffel bag looking for cigarettes, I can't stop thinking about what I found in the garage.  
  
A baby's cradle. Anya was pregnant when she died: this just keeps getting worse and worse. I light up a cigarette, and pray with each exhalation that I can rid myself of these morbid thoughts. Dead wife, dead child, dead brown eyes...  
  
Returning to Sunnydale wasn't supposed to be like this. I was supposed to kick vampire ass, joke around with Xander, and try to recapture some of the fun times from before my life went all to shit.  
  
But instead, I'm trapped in Xander's worst nightmare. When I tried to get him to talk about Anya last night, he just brushed me off, told me I must be tired after such a long day, and that I should get some sleep.   
  
Yeah, right. Sleep. Like you could sleep, Xander? I heard you muttering all night, tossing and turning. I found the glass by the couch, empty except for the faint mediciny smell of vodka. What happened to our pact, the one about never becoming like our boozehound parents? You try to act like the old Xander when you're with me, but your eyes betray you.  
  
I look in your eyes, and I see that same crazy, dark, pain-filled black hole that took me years to crawl out of. I see the anger, guilt, self-loathing, and unbearable pain. Everything I felt after I punched my own self-destruct button. You try to cover it up, just like I did, hoping that if you ignore the pain long enough you can convince yourself that you don't care anymore. See how well that worked for me?  
  
I can't go back to that dark place again, I just can't. I look at my duffel bag, still packed with all my stuff, and I'm tempted to leave. Take Xander's twenty-dollar bill and catch the next bus to anywhere-but-here.  
  
Run away, just like I always do when the going gets tough. Like how I ran across country after Kakistos killed my Watcher. Like how I quit the Scoobies and joined the opposing team. Like how I fled to L.A. after my last fight with Buffy. It would be so easy to walk out that door, and not have to deal with any of this.  
  
I hightail it out of the bedroom, away from the bag that's begging to sling itself over my shoulder and guide me out the door. I grind out my cigarette in the bathroom sink as I look at myself in the mirror.  
  
Damn it! I'm such a bitch!  
  
How can I even consider bailing on him? Xander was the shovel that helped me dig out of the hole I was trapped in. If he hadn't forgiven me, befriended me when I was alone, given me hope that I could be a decent person again, I don't know where I'd be. Scratch that, I know exactly where I'd be. Huddled in a dark cell, waiting to die.  
  
His letters were my lifeline, my emotional rescue. His words comforted me, and made my hellish life in prison almost bearable. He gave me laughter, kindness, and the belief that something good was waiting for me on the outside. When I felt like scum, he told me how cool I was. When I felt worthless, he reminded me that I was the Slayer. As I sat alone in my cell, Xander's letters connected me with the outside world, and I wasn't lonely anymore. With every CD he bought me, every stupid joke he told, every secret confidence we shared, every phone call on the holidays, and every letter that he signed "P.S. I miss you," he made me fall in love with him.  
  
I didn't think that would happen. I've never, ever cared about a guy like this before. Use 'em and push 'em away before they can do the same to me: that's my pattern.  
  
See. Want. Take. Forget.  
  
I even pulled that shit on Xander, way back when. Except he didn't want to throw me away, he actually cared. He tried to reach out to me, but I was too screwed up. It hurts me to think about those days. Not just because I damn near killed him, but because I blew my chance of actually having a normal relationship. Not a one night stand, but someone who mattered. Someone who didn't care about my past, who didn't mind my night job, someone who made me feel special.  
  
I love Xander, but knew I'd never be able to tell him...because he already had someone in his life. He married her, and I respected that. I wasn't willing to risk losing his friendship by telling him how I really felt.  
  
But do you know what else I hate about myself right now? Old Faith hasn't completely left the building. Old Faith is secretly happy that Anya is finally out of the picture. I remember all those nights of lying on my bunk after lights out, fantasizing about him, straining to read his letters in the darkness and imagining what it would be like to feel him inside me again.   
  
I can still see shades of my former self in the mirror. My pouty face, my sly, predatory eyes. I've tried to shake up my look by cutting my hair and toning down the make-up, but no matter what I do, I still see bits of Old Faith lurking there in my reflection. "Just take him! Fuck his brains out and leave," she says. "Who needs all this drama? You're finally free, and it's time to party!"  
  
Shit. What am I going to do?  
  
I hear the phone ringing in the living room. Angel! He must have gotten the scoop from Willow or Cordelia. I pick up the handset. "Yeah?"  
  
"Well, well. The grieving widower has a new friend."  
  
Damn. Not Angel. The voice on the other line is British, but it's not Giles or Wesley. Too arrogant, dangerous. It's a bad connection...the guy's voice sounds really far away. Must be an international call.  
  
"Who is this?" I ask pointedly. I'm not good at polite.   
  
"Oh, just an old friend. Tell me, pet...is Xander home?"  
  
Suddenly, the dominoes start to fall into place. Long distance phone call...Xander's trips...the foreign postcard...  
  
//X - The food is spectacular, wish you were here. - S.//  
  
It's been a really long time, and I've only met him once, but now I recognize the voice: "Spike? What do you want? He's not here."  
  
Why would he call? Oh, god...why else? I'm so stupid! He's calling about Anya! Spike killed Anya, and he's calling to gloat! That's why he sent Xander the postcard. He's taunting him, baiting him. I'd bet a million dollars if I searched this house, I'd find several more postcards just like it...from New York, Spain, Switzerland, and Thailand, no doubt.  
  
Why else would Xander spend all his money flying around the world? He's been chasing Spike, the monster who murdered his wife!  
  
"That's not fair...you know my name, but I don't know yours, love." His voice is raw silk; smooth, strong and confident. I can tell that he's smiling, enjoying himself. I want to crawl through the line and beat him to death with the telephone handset.   
  
"Maybe we'll meet soon, and get to know each other better. In the meantime, why don't you tell Xander how much fun I'm having in Morocco..."  
  
"Shut the fuck up, you sadistic son of a bitch!"  
  
"Ooh, kitty has a temper! Tell me, kitten, does he still have the nightmares? Does he call out her name in his sleep? When he makes love to you, does he pretend that you're Anya? Please, tell me everything, and don't spare any details."  
  
"You want details? How's this for details...when I see you, I'm going to cut off your balls with a pair of safety scissors, fry 'em up like chicken and feed them to you. You'll beg me to stake you before I'm finished."  
  
He laughs at this, and it's all I can do not to tear the phone out of the wall and throw it out the window.  
  
"So charming and delicate. Faith, I presume?" His mood darkens. "Don't threaten me, girl, unless you're really ready to play. You'd be very easy prey. You've been out of the game a very, very long time. I've already scored against two Slayers, and I'd love to go for the hat trick. But unfortunately, after being stuck in bloody Sunnyhell for so long, I have no desire to return any time soon. A pity. We could have a lot of fun together, Slayer. Tell Xander I called."  
  
He hangs up the phone.  
  
My mind's made up. There's no way on earth I'm leaving Xander's side now.  
  
***TO BE CONTINUED***  



	5. Part 5

He's late. He was supposed to be home an hour ago, and I've been going nuts, pacing back and forth, waiting for Xander to show up. Screw cleaning the house, I'm really not in the mood after that call with Spike, the supposedly-neutered-but-obviously-back-on-the-prowl vampire.  
  
My skin's tingly again, and I want to kill something, but sundown is still over an hour away. I'm gonna have to apologize to Xander after he sees what I did to his mop. And, um, his neighbor's kind of freaked out about how I kicked the crap out of the patio furniture.   
  
What am I going to say to him?  
  
//Xander, I know all about the drinking, the trips to Europe, and all your money problems, and by the way, the vampire who killed your wife and unborn child called to say hello. Wanna order a pizza?//  
  
I tried calling Angel again, but I just get his machine. He must be off saving the world or something. I really need another fucking cigarette, but the mountain of discarded cigarettes in the empty coffee can tells me I'm probably out.  
  
Grrr. I'm tired of pacing, so I fling myself on the couch and start chewing my thumbnail. I've got to calm down. I don't want Xander to bug out because I'm being too intense. I can't even control my own emotions, how am I supposed to be strong for him? I wish I were Willow, or Buffy, or someone who was good at the whole "comforting friend" thing. I haven't had a lot of practice being a friend, so I have no idea how to act.  
  
I hear a key jostling in the front door lock, and I tense as I see Xander come in the door. He's carrying a large brown sack, and I can smell Chinese food.  
  
"Hey! Sorry I'm late, Faith, but I picked up some dinn...oh my God!" Stunned, he drops the bag on the counter and stares at the distinct lack of garbage in the room. It's not immaculate, but the house is no longer in danger of being condemned by the Health Department.  
  
A scared look crosses his face, and he rushes to his bedroom and throws open the door. I hear a sigh of relief when he sees that his room is exactly as she left it.  
  
"Don't worry. I left everything alone," I say quietly. Relax, Xand Man, the Dead Anya Shrine has not been desecrated.   
  
He blushes as he slowly shuts the door, and he can't look me in the eye. "Thanks. You didn't have to do this. I'm sorry my place is so gross. I've been...distracted, you know?"  
  
Distracted? Telling me you've been distracted is like saying Keith Richards experimented a little with drugs. Nice, Faith, remember to be nice. "You don't have to apologize, Xander. I was glad I had a chance to do something nice, to thank you for giving me a place to stay."  
  
He smiles, tells me it's no biggie, and wanders back to the kitchen. "Wow! I have dishes again! We can eat like normal people, with utensils and everything! Which is definitely of the good, 'cause I never could get the hang of chopsticks." He starts pulling little white and red containers from the bag, and it smells delicious. I haven't eaten anything since this morning, and my stomach is grumbling.   
  
We pile up our plates and settle into the chairs in the living room, "COPS" blaring from the television set. Maybe I'm a little biased, but I really don't like this show. "What time do we have to meet with Riley and Dawn?" I ask, because I'm too big of a chicken shit to talk to him about what I learned today.  
  
"We can head over once we're done eating. Apparently, there's some new bad-ass vampire in town we gotta deal with. What else is new?" he snorts. He is the opposite of enthused as he picks at his chow mein. Changing the subject, he asks me, "So, what did you do today, besides sanitize Casa de Harris?"  
  
A dog barks next door, and Xander turns his head to look outside the sliding glass window. His eyes widen when he sees the carnage on his patio.  
  
Oops.  
  
"What the hell happened to my lawn chairs?" He hops off the couch to go inspect the mangled ruins that at one point could have been considered patio furniture, but no longer. After that call with Spike, I got a little...distracted.  
  
He turns to look at me, and he's frowning. I feel like a dog that got caught pissing on the floor.  
  
"Couldn't hold off on the slaying until the vampires came out, huh? Well, thanks for ridding Sunnydale of the latest undead furniture menace. There's a really vicious Lazy-Boy recliner hidden in the shed, if you feel up to it." He points at the twisted heaps of metal and plastic. "What the heck is that all about?"  
  
"Spike called."  
  
All the color drains out of his face, and his outstretched hand wilts to hang listlessly at his side. He looks like he might fall over. "What?" His voice is barely audible.  
  
"Spike called...and I know why he did. I found the postcard, Xander, and I know you've been trying to track him down. I know about Anya..."  
  
"You don't know anything!" he yells. His lightning fast burst of anger startles me. He stands there, shaking, his eyes burning and his jaw clenched. "Don't tell me you know, you weren't even there!"  
  
"Xander, I don't know because you won't tell me! Why won't you talk to me? Why won't you let me help you?"  
  
"I don't need anyone's help!" he screams. He grabs the sliding door curtains and violently yanks them off the rod, tossing them angrily to the side. One end of the curtain rod is ripped from the wall, and it hangs lopsided in front of the glass. He swings out and knocks over a standing lamp, which falls to the floor with a crash. Great, I spent five hours cleaning this place up, and he's already started to wreck it again.  
  
He bolts for the door, but I'm not going to let him leave like this. I run and grab him, pinning his arms as he shouts and tries to push me away. I'm much stronger than he is, so it isn't doing much good. "Xander, please. Don't go. You don't have to talk about it. I'm sorry I blindsided you like that. Please..."  
  
He stops struggling, and shakily puts his arms around me. I hold him tightly, and I want to suck away all his anger, take away all his pain. "Shhh...it's okay, Xander," I murmur into his ear. "I won't pressure you. You'll talk about her when you're ready. I'll be here, baby. You don't have to go through this alone."   
  
He's quiet. He doesn't cry, he just holds me, and we stand here in the hallway like this for several minutes. I can feel his heart beating in his chest, and his soft brown hair falls in my face. I've longed to be this close to him for years, but I'd sell what's left of my soul for this embrace to be under different circumstances. God help me, I wish I could bring Anya back for him.  
  
"Thank you," he says softly. He pushes back, awkward, trying to smile but not managing it one bit. I steer him back to the couch and sit him down. He's looking at the kitchen cabinet where he keeps the alcohol, and I can tell he really wants a drink, but that's the last thing he needs.  
  
I turn off the television, and sit down on the couch. Xander has his knees pulled up close to him, his arms wrapped around his long, gangly legs, and he looks so young again. Huddled up in the corner of the couch, looking like a scared little kid. His glittering brown eyes stare at nothing.  
  
"What do you want to do, Xander?"  
  
He just sits there. He closes his eyes and leans over his knees. We sit in silence, and just when I think I can't stand it anymore, he finally speaks. His voice is so quiet, I have to strain to listen.  
  
"We were tracking a demon. Riley and me. It slaughtered a lot of people by the Sunnydale reservoir, so we camped out in the woods and set some traps. Ugly son of a bitch. Dark green scales, big teeth, had a fondness for eating the lungs of his victims. It took two days for us to finally find it and kill it."  
  
He looks over at me, and I nod to let him know I'm listening. He continues, in the same soft, flat, expressionless tone.   
  
"I used Riley's cell phone to call home and let Anya know we were finished, but she didn't answer. She'd been doing inventory at the shop all week, so I figured she was working late. We bundled the demon corpse into the back of Riley's truck and headed over to the Magic Box."  
  
Xander picks at his jeans, not looking at me.  
  
"While Riley fiddled with his gear, I went inside. Ahn and I have been together for almost a decade, but I still get that excited little flutter every time I'm about to see her. Anya was waiting for me. She was wearing the sun dress I bought her, the one that floated around her legs like a cloud. She was just starting to show, and her little tummy only made her look more beautiful. I picked her up, swung her around and hugged her, just like I always do."  
  
His voice starts to waver, and he shakes his head slowly while he speaks, like he can't accept what's happening. Xander continues to stare at nothing, lost in the memory.  
  
"She kissed me, and her lips were...cold. Not soft, sweet and warm. Not Anya's lips. Not my wife anymore.  
  
She laughed as she grabbed my arms, bruising me. I froze. I didn't yell out. I didn't try to push her away. I watched as her face got all bumpy, her eyes turned yellow, her teeth got sharp. I just stood there, and closed my eyes."  
  
Silent tears ran down his face, and my eyes were drawn to the scar on his neck, the one I'd touched last night. I put my hand on his foot and grip it gently. I feel moisture on my own cheeks, and my vision blurs as I listen to Xander tell me about the worst thing that ever happened to him.  
  
"My wife, my son, my whole life...all gone. I let her bite me, because I knew I'd rather die than live without her. I didn't even feel anything while she was killing me. But I heard her gasp, and I opened my eyes just in time to see her fade into nothing. Anya, the center of my whole universe, simply disappeared. No goodbye, no final "I love you," no slipping away quietly in her sleep after sixty years of marriage. Just silence, and dust, and then...emptiness. It took less than five minutes for my world to be completely destroyed."  
  
"I fell down on the floor, and Riley had to slap me a couple times to keep me from passing out. He...he didn't know it was Anya, he just saw a vampire attacking me, and he staked her. I mumbled at him to let me die, but he threw me over his shoulder and drove me to the emergency room."  
  
"It wasn't until the next day that Riley figured out what happened. We installed security cameras in the shop a couple years ago, and he reviewed the videotape. He destroyed the tape so I'd never see, but I forced him to tell me what happened. He saw Anya beg for her life, and for the life of our baby. He watched what Spike did to her before he turned her. She lived for several hours before she died, and the tape caught it all. Spike made sure of that...he waved and smiled into the camera before he left. He cleared out his crypt, and he skipped town. That was three months ago."  
  
I put my hand over my mouth, and try to keep my tears in check, but I can't.   
  
What the hell do I say? "I'm sorry" doesn't seem to cover it. There are no words to describe the horror I feel about what happened to Xander, so I just sit here, saying nothing.  
  
"Now you know," he says quietly. He stands up and walks into the bathroom, and I can hear him splashing water on his face.  
  
***TO BE CONTINUED***  



	6. Part 6

He's still in the bathroom. Neither one of us can speak after Xander told me how Anya died. Tortured to death, turned into a vampire, she nearly killed her own husband before Riley staked her.  
  
And the worst part: he wanted to die. He let Vamp Anya bite him. Spike destroyed two lives the night he murdered Anya. (Three, I guess, if you count the baby, and I'm sure he does.) Xander will never be the same again. How could he? He's lost everything that ever mattered to him. Xander wrote once in a letter that he knew he'd never be rich, or powerful, or the world's greatest hero, but that was okay. His aspirations for the future were simple: a happy marriage, a safe place to live, and a family.   
  
Simple dreams for an average man. Xander never had a great home life growing up, and neither did I, so his dreams sounded pretty good to me, too. He'd have made a great dad, not that I have any experience in that arena. Mama barely remembered my father's last name. But Xander...I know he would have been a good father to his son. He'd have praised him, and hugged him, and cheered at all the kid's soccer games. He would have given his son all the warmth he longed for, but never got, from his own father.  
  
Xander's the kind of man who never runs out of love, even for people who probably don't deserve it. That's his greatest strength, and the reason the Scooby Gang adored him. His love brings out the best in people. Like Cordelia...she was a Grade A, selfish little bitch before she started hanging with the X-Man. Didn't know Anya, but from what I understand, she wasn't much different, and with a 1,000 year old history of torturing men, she couldn't have won any Miss Congeniality awards. Then there's me. Faith the Psycho Murderering Slut. I'd say Xander's some kind of fucking miracle worker when it comes to the changes he's brought out in me. Now I'm just plain Faith.  
  
Does Xander love me? Yeah, I think he does. Not the way I'd like him to, but I know he'd do just about anything for me. He showed up at every parole hearing, dressed up in a shirt and butt-ugly tie, and he'd talk to the board to convince them I'd been rehabilitated. When I told him how much I missed being able to go outside, cooped up behind prison walls, he sent me a square of lawn turf so I could inhale the scent of cut grass again. The guards confiscated it, but it's the thought that counts. When I mentioned how awful the generic tampons were in jail (Xander and I tended to write about very odd topics) he actually shipped me a huge carton of Tampax. That's love, if a guy is willing to buy feminine hygiene products for you.   
  
He's going through hell right now, but Xander invited me into his home without a second's thought. He'd do anything for a friend, and I hope to God I have a chance to return the favor. If it takes fifty years, I will track down Spike and give Xander the opportunity to avenge Anya's death.  
  
I jump when I hear the phone ring. I wipe the tears from my cheeks and look over at Xander as he reaches for the phone in the hallway. He has a grim look on his face, and I know what he's thinking.  
  
What if it's Spike?  
  
He hesitates for a moment, steeling himself, before he picks up the phone. His voice is unnatural and forced when he finally speaks. "Hello?"  
  
When I see his surprise, I hop up from the couch. I think I'm going to have to mangle some furniture again. Damn that bastard! But after a moment, when Xander doesn't freak out, I realize it's not him.  
  
"Uh, thanks, Angel. I...appreciate that. I'm doing fine. Could you, um, tell Cordy I'm really sorry that I never got around to thanking her for the flowers? Thanks again, man. Faith? Just a second, I'll get her." He hands me the phone. "It's Dead Boy," he mouths silently. He scratches his hair and looks puzzled as I take the phone from his hand.  
  
"Hey. How's it going?" I look over at Xander nervously. He's a little stunned after getting a call from Angel. They haven't spoken to each other in years. Xander walks into the kitchen, and I cringe as I see him pour himself a drink. Damn!  
  
"Xander's home. Now's probably not a good time to talk about what I found out, huh?" Sheesh. Vampires. They've had centuries to learn the art of mastering the obvious.  
  
"Yeah, Angel, it really is good to be out. Sunnydale hasn't changed a bit. The bus ride up was fine, got in about seven o'clock last night." I try to keep my tone light.  
  
"Did you find out already that Spike killed Anya?" he asked.  
  
"Yep." Oh, boy, did I ever.  
  
"I'm a little disturbed that no one from Sunnydale bothered to tell me that Spike's violent side resurfaced. Didn't they consider that I might want a little advance warning in case he decided to pay me a visit? There's bad blood between us, too, you know. I really let Giles have it..."  
  
"And how is the detective business these days? Details, Angel, details," I ask, my teeth clenched. Xander just poured himself a second (or was it a third?) shot of vodka.  
  
"Sorry. I couldn't locate Willow, but I called Giles in England. Forgot about the time zone difference, so he wasn't too thrilled to hear from me. He was in Sunnydale for the funeral. Cordy was visiting family in Connecticut that month, so she didn't find out about it till afterwards. Anyway, he said that no one knows how Spike got the microchip implant out of his head, but that he probably killed Anya in retaliation for what happened with Drusilla."   
  
Drusilla...that's the vampire who killed Kendra, the Slayer before me. I think she used to have a thing with Spike. Yeah, I remember Buffy telling me about those two. They were like the Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungeon of the vampire set. Too bad they didn't both O.D. years ago and save us a lot of trouble.  
  
"So what happened?"  
  
"Xander staked Drusilla earlier this year. Again, no one could have told me about this?" Angel's not thrilled to just be learning about what happened to his vampire brood now.  
  
"You're kidding...really?" Xander killed a powerful vampire? This just keeps getting weirder and weirder.  
  
"It's true. Dru went back to Sunnydale after traveling in Asia for a couple years. She wanted to work things out with Spike. Apparently they had a falling out right before Buffy died. Dru stirred up a lot of trouble, as she usually does, and Xander took her out. I was as surprised as you were when I heard about it. I guess he really has changed a lot. The Xander I used to know couldn't even stake Harmony Kendall, let alone Drusilla. Giles mentioned that Xander received a lot of commando training from...Finn...over the past couple years, and his fighting skills have improved considerably." Angel can barely force himself to mention Riley's name, the other man who shared Buffy's heart.  
  
"Huh. That's interesting. Anything else?" I peer into the kitchen again to check up on Xander...now he's shoving the leftover Chinese food in the fridge. At least he didn't finish the bottle.  
  
I don't get it. If Xander's GI Joe now, how come he barely fought with those vampires last night? He didn't even have any weapons on him, except for one little stake. Riley mentioned that they were supposed to meet last night to take out the nest together. Why would Xander go into battle unprepared, after he'd been drinking, and without Riley, when he knew...  
  
When he knew the place would be crawling with vampires. He went in alone on purpose. Xander didn't have any intention of killing those vamps. Just the opposite, he was hoping they'd kill him. After hearing Xander's story about Anya, I know I'm right.  
  
Xander's trying to get himself killed. That's why Riley and Dawn are concerned about him, they must sense it. He's probably been really reckless lately, and that's why he got ticked and told Riley to quit lecturing him yesterday.  
  
If I hadn't shown up when I did...he'd be dead right now. My blood freezes and I can barely hear what Angel is saying. Something about calling me when he hears any more news. I mumble a good-bye and hang up the phone. I can't believe how close I came to losing Xander...losing the only man I've ever loved.  
  
"You and Dead Boy...you guys are close, huh?" Xander asks, a hint of jealousy in his voice. He never did like Angel. He rights the lamp that he knocked down. I try to shake the chill out of my bones as I help him fold the curtains to fix later. His face is sheepish, apologetic as we clean up the mess he made during his tantrum earlier.  
  
"You and Angel are my people, Xan. The only ones I've got. I don't know what I'd do without either one of you."  
  
"I'm sorry I'm such a head case, Faith. I'd...understand...if you feel like you have to clear out, but please know I am really glad you're here." He looks down at the floor as he rubs my shoulder and bites his lip, his head cocked in that wounded little puppy dog way that I always associate with Xander. I lift his chin to look at him.  
  
"I want to be here. I hate what happened to you Xander, and if there's anything...anything that I can do to help you get through this, just ask," I tell him. He strokes my hair, and he smiles at me in that goofy way of his.  
  
"Could you...you, know...clean out my garage for me?" he asks sincerely. Xander yelps as I punch him in the arm. He hugs me and kisses my forehead, thanking me softly. He rubs his arm as he moves over to the hallway closet, and holds out my leather jacket.  
  
"So, um, do you wanna go over to the Magic Box now?" he asks. "It's almost sunset, and there should be plenty of vamps to keep us busy tonight."   
  
"'Kay. I'm driving." He tries to protest, telling me I haven't driven in years, but I grab the car keys out of his hand on our way out the door. He's not getting behind the wheel after hitting the bottle, and besides, I need to work off some nervous energy before we get there.  
  
Riley and I are going to have a little chat before we do any slaying tonight.  
  
***TO BE CONTINUED***  
  
  
  



	7. Part 7

Man, I forgot how much fun driving is!   
  
"Faith! Read the signs! See there...DO NOT ENTER... we're going the wrong way....watch for the...aaargh!" Xander hides his face in his hands. "Stop! You're going to kill us!"  
  
Oh, *now* he suddenly finds the will to live. I think I'm going to be Xander's designated driver from now on...whether he likes it or not.  
  
"Don't be such a wuss. I'm taking a shortcut." Whoops...I swerve and barely miss hitting a raggedy, old homeless lady with a shopping cart. What is she doing on the crosswalk when I'm coming down the street, anyway? Get outta my way. Slayer coming through!  
  
"Excuse me, but I believe the posted speed limit is 35 miles per hour, not 75!" yells Xander, as one eye glares at me from behind his interlaced fingers. We hit a speed bump, and suddenly he's airborne in his seat. He grimaces when his head hits the roof of the car. "Ouch! Faith, slow down, or I'm personally going to rip your driver's license into itty bitty little pieces!"  
  
"Uh...I'd have to actually have a license before you could take it away. Hey, look...'Rocky Horror Picture Show' is playing at the Bijou! Saturday night, we are so there."   
  
Xander drops his hands from his face and turns to me, horrified. "What do you mean, you don't have a license? Oh, that's it! I don't care if you are the Slayer, I'm going to kick your perky little ass if you wreck my car...I still have twelve payments left to make!" He gasps and points at something out the window. "Hey, hey! Garbage cans, two o'clock!"  
  
Xander cringes as I swipe the trashcans, scattering garbage all over the place. Hey, they were rubber. It's not like they're going to do any real damage to the car!  
  
"I never bothered to take the driver's license test. No time! Too busy being the Slayer, and then, of course, there was that five-year vacation at the luxurious federal penitentiary. Who needs a stupid little piece of plastic telling everyone I know how to drive? I'm doing just fine without it."  
  
Xander just clutches his stomach and moans. He doesn't look so good. I pull up in front of the Magic Box, and the car grinds to a stop with a big chugging jerk. He opens the door, and yacks all over the sidewalk. Heh heh. He'll think twice before drinking next time we have to go out on patrol.   
  
"Oh, sorry, Xan," I say innocently. "I guess I forgot all about your little problem with car sickness."  
  
"Ugh. I take back all the nice things I said to the parole board. You're still evil." He wipes his mouth with his hand and drags himself out of the car. He rips the car keys out of my hand. "And here I thought Buffy was the worst driver I had ever seen. Nope. You win that contest, hands down!"  
  
"Yay, me. Reckless endangerment. Something I can finally be better at than the Buffster!" I give him two snaps up, and he shakes his head, smiling reluctantly. I grab Barfing Boy by the arm and pull him into the shop. He's still really woozy.  
  
Riley, Dawn, and some brown-haired chick I don't recognize are waiting inside. They're sitting around a table, and look up as we walk in. Dawn sees that Xander is turning six shades of green, and promptly gives me the Death Glare. "What did you do to him? Poison him?" Dawn and the brunette come over and huddle around Xander, checking him out to see if he's okay.  
  
I put up my hands. "Hey, squirt, don't blame me. Xander has no one but himself to thank for his present condition." Well, maybe I helped a little with my best imitation of a "Starsky and Hutch" car chase.  
  
"I'll live. Barely. I just need to sit down," Xander groans. Dawn leads him over to a chair. An anatomy book lies open on the table. Xander takes one look at the graphic pictures of internal organs, and rushes towards the sign marked "Restroom" in the back of the store. *evil grin*  
  
Bemused, Riley watches Xander run by on his way to puke up the rest of his vodka and Chinese food. Dawn follows him. She sure likes to hover...what is she going to do, hold his hair back for him? Let the man pray to the porcelain god in peace!  
  
Soldier Boy turns to me. "Faith. Glad you could join us. Have you met Amy yet? She runs the Magic Box now that...now that..." his voice trails off. He was about to say "now that Anya is gone."  
  
"Nope, don't think we've met. Yo!" I give the new girl a little wave and smile awkwardly. Trying out the Nice Faith look. I hope I don't look too retarded.  
  
The brown-haired girl squeaks and holds out her hand. "Hi! So, you're a Slayer? You're the second one I've met. I used to know Buffy, too. We went to high school together. I think I've seen you before, you look kind of familiar. Would you like some cheese?" She gestures at a tray of food on the table. "I've got plenty...jarlsberg, gouda, havarti, muenster, brie..."  
  
I shake her hand, smile plastered on my face. "Uh, thanks, but no thanks, Amy. I already ate." She shrugs and selects a chunk of havarti from the platter. She holds the cheese to her mouth with both hands, taking delicate little nibbles, her nose wrinkling as she eats. She repeats the process with a new slice, a contented smile on her lips.   
  
What is with this chick? Girlfriend seems seriously beholden to the power of cheese. But as much as I'd like to ponder the mysteries of Minnie Mouse here, I've got business to take care of.  
  
"Riley, we need to talk. Now." He senses how serious I am, and doesn't question as he follows me outside. "Hey, got a smoke?" He gives me a disdainful look.   
  
No, of course Mormon farm boy here isn't gonna have cigarettes. I might as well ask Jesse Helms for a porno magazine.  
  
I don't have time for small talk, so I lay it on the line. "We've got a problem. You've probably already guessed that Xander's on the express train to Crazy Town, right?" I should know: I've made that trip myself.  
  
Riley sighs and leans against the wall. "I know. He's one of my best friends, and I trust him with my life...but right now, I don't trust him with his own." He searches my face for a sign that I know something. "What have you seen, Faith?"  
  
"A lot. He's drinking heavily...he has problems sleeping...he has a violent temper...and Spike's totally mind fucking him, so that isn't helping matters. Xander told me about what happened with Anya...that must be really hard for you, too." He saw the videotape...he saw what Spike did to her. Does he suffer from the same nightmares as Xander?  
  
His handsome face darkens at the memory, and he clenches his fists. "Spike should be dragged out into the desert and left to burst into flames for hurting her. But I'm the one who staked her... I didn't have time to register that it was Anya killing Xander, I just had a few seconds to act...I had to save him. She...she was my friend, too. I miss her." He looks inside the Magic Box, and I see a faint rim of tears shining in his eyes. "She died in there. Every day, when we meet here to talk about the latest sub-terrestrial threat to Sunnydale, I remember what happened."  
  
No wonder Xander doesn't want to go to Scooby Gang meetings anymore. Jesus, couldn't they pick a new spot? Like a Starbucks, or the bowling alley, or anywhere that Anya didn't get murdered?   
  
Riley collects himself before he continues. "Xander couldn't look me in the eye for the longest time. He says he doesn't blame me, but things have been really strained between us for the last few months. Especially since I dragged him out of Thailand, kicking and screaming. I actually had to drug him to get him on the airplane, he was so determined to find Spike. But the son of a bitch always got away. I don't want to stop Xander from killing Spike, but I had to bring him home...he was going to lose everything. His career, his house, his sanity. I went to his boss and begged him not to fire Xander for job abandonment. He's on probation now...but if Xander slips up, he's out of a job."  
  
When I first realized how bad off Xander was, I was a little ticked that Riley hadn't done more to help him, but now I see how much he really has tried. Riley's a good man, and a good friend. If he isn't able to knock sense into Xander, what hope do I have?  
  
"Spike called today...he says he's in Morocco. What are we going to do? Do we hop the next plane?" I ask the question, but I already know the answer.  
  
Riley pounds his fist against the wall. "Damn it! He loves to do this...he won't be there tomorrow. Spike wants us to chase him. It's all a big game for Spike, and we're losing. We'd get so close to him, but he'd always be three steps ahead of us. We'd locate all of his hideouts...empty. He'd leave notes mocking us and our inability to find him. But that wasn't the worst part."  
  
After all the things I've heard about Spike, nothing would surprise me. He's a ruthless, cold-blooded killer. How the Scoobs allowed him to live among them for so long without staking him, I'll never understand. Chip or no chip, he's a fucking vampire, not a household pet.  
  
"He'd kill pregnant women, and made sure we found them. If I live to be a hundred years old, I'll never forget the first corpse...she was young and pretty, and looked a lot like Anya. She'd only been dead about six hours when we found her in the basement of an old tenement building in Queens. Xander held her in his arms, and when he wept, I'd never heard such a horrible sound. Loud, desperate, keening...he kept wailing that it was his fault, over and over. We had to wait there, for hours, until she had fully turned and we could finally stake her. When the time came, I made Xander wait outside while I did it."  
  
Riley and I hear a noise from inside the shop, and we peek in the window. Xander and Dawn are still hidden in the back. Amy's busy shelving books high up on a ladder, and it looks like she dropped some. Seems like we have more time before we need to get back, so Riley continues.  
  
"Spike's death toll mounted, but we were always too late to stop him. Xander felt personally responsible, and he became obsessed with the search. The pregnant victims were the hardest for him to deal with. It was like he was reliving the Anya ordeal, over and over. I had to remind him to eat and sleep. We were like slaying machines, staking all the undead minions Spike created or allied himself with as he cut a swath of blood across Europe and Asia. We must have destroyed over a hundred vampires during our quest. But Spike always eluded us. We came really close...Xander tagged the bastard's shoulder with a crossbow bolt in Rome, but he always escaped."  
  
"We weren't getting anywhere, so I brought us home so we could regroup. I've never had an argument with Xander like the one on the night we left...he damn near broke my jaw before I nicked him with a tranquilizer dart." Riley rubbed his chin as he remembered the fight. "He wouldn't speak to me the whole flight home. I burned his passport when we got back, otherwise he'd still be off hunting...no matter what the cost, personal or financial."  
  
Or the cost to his sanity. Just when I think I've heard the worst of what Xander's had to deal with, something even more terrible surfaces. I can't believe Xander can even function after all the things Spike has done to him. He's a master at keeping everything bottled up inside, but Xander's cork is about ready to blow. If Xander can't kill Spike, he's going to kill himself, but I'm not going to sit by and let that happen.  
  
"Spike is driving him nuts, Riley. Xander can't hack it anymore, he's giving up. Last night...those vamps...I think he wanted them to kill him. He ducked out on you on purpose, so you wouldn't be around to save him this time." Riley's jaw clenches, but he doesn't look surprised. "We gotta keep a close eye on Xander, keep him out of trouble. And we have to do something to nail that twisted, arrogant asshole, and soon. I'm open to suggestions."  
  
"Left to our own devices, we'll never be able to catch Spike. But I have a plan. We need more resources." Riley looks so confident, determined. He hates Spike just as much as Xander does, and he'll stop at nothing to see justice served. I'm glad we're on the same side...for a change.  
  
"Who, the army guys you used to hang out with?" I ask.  
  
"No, the Initiative doesn't exist anymore. I still have contacts in the military, but getting them involved would be too risky. They wouldn't kill Spike, they'd just want to experiment on him and determine how the microchip failed. But the people we're going to call have been around for centuries, they know all about Spike's history, and have a network of operatives that span the globe...the Watcher's Council."  
  
Oh, crap. I really don't like this plan...   
  
***TO BE CONTINUED***  
  
  
  
  
  



	8. Part 8

Riley's plan bites. Really, really bites.  
  
"The Watchers Council?" I can't hide my contempt for this idea as we slip back inside the Magic Box. "Are you crazy? Riley, those stuck-up, Masterpiece-Theater-loving snobs are not going to help you kill Spike. They're a bunch of fucking bookworms, not soldiers! What are they going to do? Serve him exploding crumpets and poisoned tea? Drop a ton of dusty books on his head? Or maybe bore Spike to death by making him listen to a lecture on K'olothak demon mating habits?"   
  
I'm really not a big fan of the Watchers, especially since they have a habit of trying to kill me when they don't get their way. "Trying" being the operative word. They couldn't even manage to do that job right. I turned myself in to the cops before their goon squad could fit me for a pair of cement Doc Martens.  
  
Afterwards, the Council had the nerve to send a couple of British tight-asses to visit me in prison, their lame attempt to bury the hatchet and discuss my plans for the future. They swore up and down that their retrieval squad was sent only to capture me, not kill me. I was not very receptive, and let them know exactly what I thought about the Council and their chances of having a pet Slayer again. I actually made the fat one cry before they finally left.   
  
The Watchers Council can shove it where the sun don't shine, 'cause I'm not having anything to do with those geeks ever again.  
  
"Hear me out, Faith." Riley has Serious Face on, so I stop bitching and decide to give him a chance. What the hell, nothing else they've tried has worked. We walk over to the table, where Chickie Cheese is hanging out. Amy has a laptop computer in front of her, and she's typing away. She gives us a little smile as we sit down.  
  
I watch Xander and Dawn return from the back room and sit down at the table.   
  
His eyes are red, and he still looks a little nauseated . For a few minutes there, when we had our little driving adventure, he was animated, alive, and making cracks, just like he used to. Brief glimpses of the Xander I remember. I even made him smile a little. But now he's sad and withdrawn again.  
  
Dawn picks at some of the cheese Amy laid out, and keeps a wary eye on me...like she's waiting for me to pull a knife on someone, or try something crazy. It's pretty obvious that Kid Sister is never going to forgive me for my past crimes. I want to stick my tongue at her, or give her the finger, but then I remember that I'm trying really hard to be a decent upstanding citizen, so I do my best to ignore her. Grrrr.  
  
"Earth to Faith?"  
  
Pay attention, Faith! Soldier Boy is telling you about his plan! I straighten up and focus on Riley again.  
  
"We don't have a lot of options," Riley says. "I'm not saying the Council can kill Spike, but they could help us find him." At the mention of Spike's name, Xander stiffens.  
  
"We're not having any luck using conventional methods to track Spike. He doesn't have a passport, he doesn't have a credit card, hell, he isn't even a legal entity. It's like he doesn't really exist in the real world. The only way we've found Spike in the past is because he...told us where to look." Riley looks over at Xander sadly. Xander looks away, embarrassed. "I'm usually Scully the Skeptic when it comes to magic, rituals, and that kind of thing, but I'm willing to explore alternative solutions."  
  
Xander doesn't respond; he just sits quietly in his chair. He's not even bothering to go through the motions of participating in a Scooby Meeting. No jokes, no pep talks to the group, no wacky suggestions. He just crosses his arms, and looks off at nothing, mentally checking out of the conversation. He doesn't want to be here. Here, of course, being the very same location where Spike murdered his wife, and the last place he ever saw Anya before she crumbled into dust.  
  
"I'm with Riley, involving the Watchers is worth a shot," offers Dawn. "The Council has access to all sorts of arcane, mystical knowledge, and they've studied vampires for centuries. For all we know, they already have some kind of vampire detection spell or something else we could use. Plus, Watchers are supposed to watch, right? Well, let 'em all watch out for Spike! The more people looking for him, the better."  
  
Dawn pats Xander on the knee. "This will work. Giles will make them help us, I know he will." Xander doesn't answer, but his silence and the resignation reflected in his eyes speak volumes: he's given up all hope of ever seeing Spike pay for his crimes.  
  
"Hey guys, Mr. Giles will be online in a few seconds," interrupts Amy. She turns the computer monitor to face all of us, and it looks like it's set up for video conferencing. I've never really used computers before, and although I know the technology has been around for years, I'm not used to it. It seems so George Jetson-y. The world sure has changed a lot since I've been gone. What's next, flying cars?  
  
The conference connection is made, and Giles' familiar, bespectacled face appears on the monitor. He's a little more gray around the temples, and his glasses are a little thicker, but other than that he doesn't look a heck of a lot different than the last time I saw him. Still kinda cute, for an old, nerdy British guy. He looks like he's having a hard time with the computer.  
  
"Which of these bloody buttons do I push? Oh, yes. This one. Hello? Is this thing working?" he asks.  
  
"Hi, Mr. Giles!" chimes Amy sweetly. "Did you get my monthly revenue report?"  
  
"Er, yes. Thank you, Amy." He fingers his glasses. "Reassuring to know things are running smoothly at the shop these days, and, ahem...nice cheese shaped pie charts on the report. 'Gouda' job, I should say?" He smiles half-heartedly. Amy beams at the compliment. I try not to gag at the lame pun.  
  
She scoots to her right, giving Giles a better view of everyone in the shop.   
  
His eyes bug out and his glasses nearly fall off his face when he sees me sitting next to Riley.  
  
"Good god! Faith! I-I didn't realize you were...were..."  
  
"Hey, G, long time no see." Yep, everyone is just so glad to see me back.   
  
"You're probably wondering what I'm doing back in Sunny D...well, see, there was this prison riot. I jumped the fence, hitched a ride on the laundry truck, and now I'm a fugitive from justice. Whoa...if you call in a tip to America's Most Wanted, I bet you could even be on TV and collect a big reward! Oh, but they probably don't air that in England, huh..." I shrug. "Never mind!"  
  
Giles never did know how to take a joke. He just sits there, befuddled, his mouth slightly open, ready to stammer as he tries to formulate a response.  
  
Riley comes to his rescue. "Don't listen to her, Giles. The California Department of Corrections released her this week, so she's out on parole and back on patrol. She did a fantastic job last night against some of the locals. It's nice to have a Slayer back in town. We need all the help we can get!"  
  
I did more ass-falling than ass-kicking, but I smile proudly. I may need some time to get back up to speed, but I did take out several vampires. "Thanks, Riley."  
  
Dawn rolls her eyes and mutters. "I just hope she remembers to restrict her slaying to vampires and demons from now on."  
  
Nice Faith, nice Faith, nice Faith...  
  
"Yes, well, it's good to see everyone. I suppose we should proceed." He looks hesitant and nervous. Something tells me we're not going to like what he has to say, because he's fidgeting. When Giles fidgets, it's never good news.  
  
"So...were you able to set up a meeting with Travers, like we discussed?" Riley asked.  
  
"I'm sorry, but there isn't going to be a meeting." Giles pushes his glasses up on his nose again. "I spoke with all the Council elders myself, and tried to convince them to aid us, but they all refused."  
  
"What! Why?" demanded Dawn. "They're supposed to want to kill vampires! Why won't they help? Are they too busy playing cricket at the Watcher's Jamboree? What's the problem?"  
  
I'm not surprised by their answer. "What did I tell ya, Riley? Fucking bookworms!"  
  
Xander shifts in his chair, his lips drawn in a tight line. He's clenching his fists, but he doesn't protest. Dawn tries to put her hand on his shoulder, but he flinches from her touch.  
  
"I don't get it, Giles," Riley says incredulously. "Spike is an extremely dangerous and deadly killer. Xander and I believe he's directly responsible for over 140 deaths since leaving Sunnydale. We've witnessed the path of destruction he's carved firsthand; we've seen what he's done to his victims. Why wouldn't they act to stop him, and prevent further needless deaths?"  
  
"The Council agrees with our assessment that Spike is an unusually violent predator, but they are unwilling to expend time, money, and manpower to locate a single vampire," explains Giles. "A vampire, they added, that we allowed to exist in our midst for several years before he became murderous again. The Council is, to put it mildly, not very sympathetic to our plight."  
  
A brief flicker of emotion crosses Xander's face...grief? Guilt? Anger? Hard to tell...it's gone almost as soon as I notice it. He's playing his cards very close to his chest, not willing to let anyone know how this is affecting him.  
  
Dawn and Riley are pissed, shaking their heads and arguing with Giles. Amy sits back shyly, twisting her hair and biting her lip. Xander drums his fingers against the table, his jaw clenched, holding his tongue.  
  
"I'm not pleased with this either, and I've lodged a formal complaint," says Giles. "I've also asked other Watchers I know to assist, off the record. If they gain information about Spike, they will share it. But Travers is in charge, and he believes the Council's efforts are better spent trying to research and avert apocalyptic events."  
  
"Yeah, Spike's not a real threat if he's not going to cause the end of the entire fucking planet. He just single-handedly destroyed my world...but that's not important enough." Xander mutters bitterly. He pushes away from the table and walks over to the front counter.  
  
"Xander, I'm truly sorry." Giles brow wrinkles, and he shakes his head sadly. "You know how much I cared about Anya, how much I care about you. I will do everything in my power to get them to change their minds. I've met several times with the curator of the Council's relic and artifact repository, to determine if there are any items, spells, or location rituals we could use to pinpoint his whereabouts. Unfortunately, most magicks of this type focus on the life energy of a being, which undead creatures don't have any longer. Because Spike took all his belongings with him when he fled, we don't have any personal items we could use to attempt contact via clairvoyance or other psychic means. But rest assured, we will keep trying, Xander. We will find him."  
  
"Right. Sure. Gotcha." Xander's back is turned to the group, but the utter defeat in his voice is obvious.  
  
"Goddamn it, Giles." I've tried to remain calm, but I can't stand it anymore. The Council always pisses me off. "Fucking Travers and his flunkies are doing this out of spite, and you know it. They've always looked down on Buffy's 'civilian' sidekicks, and they blamed all of 'em for causing a rift between the Slayer and the Council. This is their twisted way of exacting punishment."  
  
"You're...probably right, Faith," Giles admitted. "I wish it weren't true. I wish I could hold my head high, and be proud that the organization I've dedicated my life to has done everything possible to eradicate all vampires from the face of this earth. But the Council isn't composed of supreme beings, they're just people, subject to the same human weaknesses as everyone else. Pride, pettiness, jealousy, malice...they're capable of being wrong."  
  
"Let's stay positive, people, and focus on the objective," reminds Riley. "Just because the Watchers refused to help actively search for Spike, doesn't mean they don't have assets we could use. Amy, didn't you have an idea?"  
  
Amy pipes up. "I don't have the complete text, but I've found a reference to a spell that would allow us to locate the remains of any dead being, and instantly transport them to the source of the ritual. Emil el Firouz, a very powerful 17th century warlock, used this magic to retrieve the bodies of important people lost at sea, so it has a very broad range. We could bring him back here, no matter where he is on the planet. The spell wasn't created with vampires specifically in mind, but since Spike is a corpse, I believe it will work. I need access to a copy of the Book of Onad'olak, which outlines the ritual, and I also need some Rune stones of Al'jahara. Both the book and the stones are very rare. I've scoured the shop, and exhausted all my Wiccan resources, and we don't have either. Giles, can you find out if the Watchers have them, and if I could borrow them? I've scanned the book pages that reference the spell, and I'll email them to you."  
  
Hmm. So Amy's into something a little more daring than cheese. But then, I guess she'd have to know about spells and witchcraft to work in a place like this. Wonder if she's any good?  
  
"Consider it done. I'll speak to Lord Crawley straight away, and we'll see if we have the relics you need in our archive."  
  
Riley, ever the Commander in Chief, speaks up. "Good work, Amy. Thanks for your help, Giles. I know you're doing your best, hang in there. I'm certain you can convince Travers that it's in all of our best interests to take Spike out as soon as possible."  
  
The group says their goodbyes, and Amy types in a few commands to terminate the session.  
  
Riley approaches Xander, who's still at the counter, absently playing with a jar filled with chicken feet. "Hey. Don't lose hope, buddy. I promised you that we wouldn't ever give up."  
  
Xander glares at him, and shoves the jar off the counter, and it shatters on the ground, scattering claws all over the floor. Uh oh. It's the return of Tantrum Man. "Yeah, you did promise. Right before you knocked me out and brought me back to this hellhole! 'Don't give up hope, buddy!' Hope? Ha! Don't make me laugh. The only thing that kept me going was the *hope* that I'd get to stake the son of a bitch, watch him crumble in to dust, the same way I watched Anya disappear. But I don't even have that anymore!"  
  
Riley tries to stop him, but Xander shrugs him off and storms out of the shop, slamming the door behind him. He goes to follow his friend, but I grab his arm. "You're too close to this, man. C'mon, let me talk to him," I ask. Riley nods reluctantly and lets me go after him alone.  
  
Xander's walking quickly up the street, past his parked car. I run up to catch him. It's early evening, but the streets are empty. The streets of Sunnydale are always empty after dark.  
  
"Hey, Xander! Wait up! You're my ride home, dude...don't take off!"  
  
"Just...leave me alone, Faith. Please." He takes his keys out and throws them at me. "Go home. I'll be back later."  
  
"Oh, really? So, tell me. Where are you gonna go, Xand Man? Gonna take a side trip into Willie's bar, huh? Gonna get yourself good and loaded, just like your old man?" He stops and stares at me, dumbfounded. "Yeah, I know all about the hidden bottles. I'm an expert when it comes to spotting drunks, remember?"  
  
His eyes flash like warning lights, telling me to flee to a safe distance before he explodes. "Go to hell." Xander waves me back, and starts walking up the street again. I keep following him.  
  
"I know! After you get yourself all liquored up, you can go visit your daylight-challenged drinking buddies down by the graveyard and see if any of them want a drink. Except none of them are interested in vodka, are they? When they're done drinking, you won't have to deal with any of this shit anymore, will you, Xander?"  
  
He whirls around and punches me, hard. Whoa! I wasn't expecting that, and he really socked me, too! I don't think he wasn't expecting it either, and his eyes widen, ashamed, almost as soon as his hand leaves my face. I put my hand up to my cheek where he decked me.  
  
"Oh. God. Faith..." He looks terrified. Not of what I'll do, but of what's become of him. I can almost see the harsh reminder running through his thoughts..."just like your old man." He backs away from me.  
  
"S'okay. I know how to take a punch. Why don't you take another swing at me, if you think it'll make ya feel better. C'mon, right here." I point at my chin. "Take your shot."  
  
He shakes his head, puts his hand over his mouth, and leans heavily against the wall in the alley. He stands there for a few seconds, too embarrassed to look at me. He looks so lost. I almost feel guilty for being so rough on him.  
  
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry. I can't take it anymore, Faith. The phone calls...the postcards...feeling completely powerless to do anything. Riley and the others treating me like I can't do anything on my own. But they're right; I can't do it anymore," he says weakly. "I just...want to...stop." His brown eyes beg me, asking for permission. Well, I'm not giving it!  
  
"Stop? What do you mean, stop? Stop being a Slayerette? Stop chasing Spike? Stop living?" I grab him by the shoulders, but before he can answer me, a sinister voice echoes from the back of the alley.  
  
"Did you say you want to stop living? Oh, I definitely think I can arrange that for you, darlin'!"  
  
A dark form suddenly leaps from the shadows and knocks me to the ground, and I look up into a huge gaping mouth filled with fangs.  
  
Crap. Vampire. I don't have time for this!  
  
"Do you mind? We're having a private conversation here!" I knee the vamp in the groin, and he rolls off of me, clutching himself while he moans.  
  
Xander kneels down and stakes the vampire without any fanfare, like he was killing a cockroach. He helps me to my feet.  
  
"He makes eighty seven," he says quietly. "I've staked 87 vampires since Anya died, but none of them are the right one. None of them make up for what happened. None of them were Spike!"  
  
"We'll get him, Xander..."  
  
"And then what?" he shouts. "What if we do catch Spike? It's not going to bring her back! I'm still left with nothing!" He throws his wooden stake down in disgust.   
  
"The Watchers Council is right. This is all our own fault, for not tying up loose ends and getting rid of Spike years ago. So he had the stupid chip keeping him non-violent...so what? He was still a murderer. Spike tortured and killed thousands of innocent people, and we just gave him a 'get out of stake free' pass because of a technicality!" Xander spits out the last word like it was poison.  
  
"If Ted Bundy had gotten paralyzed, or if John Wayne Gacy had been struck blind, would the world have shown them any mercy and just let them go? No! But because Mr. Perfect Chiseled Cheekbones charmed Buffy, and Dawn, and worked so hard to convince everyone that he'd changed, we let him live. We all forgot that he was still a vampire. Soul, conscience, and loyalty-free. We all grew more and more complacent as the years went by. Oh, I'm such a fool for ever trusting him. I should have realized that once a killer, always a killer, and he was never going to change!"  
  
Once a killer...always a killer. Is that how he feels? I know he's talking about Spike, not me, but all the same...his words shove a stake through my heart.  
  
"How could I be so dumb?" he yells, kicking a trash can. "To think, all these fucking years...I could have easily destroyed that soulless sociopath...but I never did. I never did!" He screams again, and it's so primal...so full of rage, and pain. The sound of his grief is almost tangible, like if I got too close, it would cut me to ribbons. He falls to his knees, grief stricken and sobbing angrily. "All my fault...if only..." He sways back and forth, burying his face in his hands. "If I'd only followed my gut and staked Spike when I had the chance...she'd still be alive. Some pathetic hero I am. How can I be expected to protect the people of Sunnydale, when I can't even protect my own wife? Oh, god, I'm so sorry, Ahn. I'm so sorry."  
  
He kneels there, the sobs ebbing from his exhausted body, while I put my arms around him. He clings to me as I gently kiss the tears from his cheeks.  
  
"Stop punishing yourself," I tell him softly. "This isn't your fault."  
  
"I don't know what to do," he murmurs sadly while he clutches me. "I'm so tired of everything. I don't want to feel this way anymore. Everything inside of me hurts so much, and I don't know how to make it stop. Nothing takes the hurt away...not the booze, not the endless searching. Every morning I wake up, and it's never better. Please...I want to stop feeling so damn empty...I need to feel something besides the anger...besides the loneliness." He nuzzles my forehead. "Please..."  
  
And then he kisses me.  
  
*** TO BE CONTINUED ***  
  



	9. Part 9

Xander's kissing me...and somehow he's both tentative and needy as he brushes his lips against mine with feathery, hesitant touches, until he fully commits to the kiss. His hand cups my jaw lightly, and I can feel a slight tremor in his fingertips. His mouth is gentle, but urgent, and I moan lightly as I clutch the back of his head and return the kiss, that old familiar horny, electric Slayer-sense tingle coursing through my whole body.  
  
I want this. Oh, I've wanted this for so long. For a moment, there is no alleyway, no Sunnydale, no vampires...just Xander and me. Together...touching...I want to forget everything else in this whole damn world and just concentrate on him. I want to feel every part of him. I want to show him, with my hands, my lips, and my tongue, just how much I love him. I want to fill his empty soul with everything that I am and give him the complete, total, unabashed Faith.  
  
I can hear Old Faith cheering in my thoughts. "About time, girlfriend! This is exactly what you need, go for it!" And I do...whole-heartedly. My hands are all over him, and he pulls me closer, his hands on my hips. I can't believe this isn't a dream. One of the many fantasies I had back in my lonely, Xander-free cell. I think of all the delicious things I want to do to him...including acts that are still illegal in some states.  
  
We stand up, a confused blur of flailing arms and smothered lips, and somehow fumble to the back corner of the alley. He presses me against the wall. "Please...can't help it...you smell so good...like..." His ragged whisper trails off as he traces kisses along my jaw and neck.   
  
I smell like almond bath soap...Anya's soap...what I used this morning when I showered in his bathroom. He likes that I smell like her!   
  
Stop it! Don't think so much...just go with the flow...this is Xander! I want this.  
  
His beard tickles me, and I'm reminded that this isn't the nervous, gentle, 17 year-old boy who surrendered his innocence to me so many years ago. Xander is a man now, and not the same person I knew before. Grieving husband and almost father...a little drunk, and a lot desperate...willing to do anything to end his lonely suffering. Not a needy boy seeking new love, but a widowed man wanting to recapture the intimacy he's lost. I try to push those painful thoughts aside and focus on the heat of his body, the touch of his hand on my breast. I tug at the buttons of his shirt. I'll take his pain away. This will make both of us feel much, much better.  
  
But the thoughts continue to nag at me, and multiple voices twist around and intrude inside my head...  
  
"...I was a fool to think he /SHE/ could ever change..."  
  
"...I don't want her to, you know, take advantage of you..."  
  
"...When he makes love to you, does he pretend that you're Anya?"  
  
And it's that last voice...Spike's cruel, taunting voice, that forces me back to reality. This isn't right. This isn't Xander falling in love with me. This is sad, lonely, Xander desperate to have something, someone, temporarily fill the Anya-shaped void in his life. I'm just convenient. A sure thing.  
  
Old Faith screams at me for what I'm about to do. "Who cares about the 'why?' That never stopped you from getting a piece of ass in the past! He wants you right now, and that's all that matters. Get your kicks, take what you want, and worry about the consequences later. That's what you do best!"  
  
No. I don't want to be that person anymore! I want Xander...but not like this.   
  
"No," I whisper, as I pull away from him. I can't believe I just did that. I had the winning Powerball ticket, and I ripped it to pieces without claiming the prize.  
  
His tormented brown eyes are filled with disappointment, and hungry, raw need. Before he can ask why, we're startled by a nervous squeak at the entrance to the alley.  
  
A meek voice peeps up. "Uh, sorry to interrupt, but we...um...heard screaming." Amy and Dawn stand there. Amy blushes and looks like she wants to crawl into the nearest hole in the wall. Dawn is completely appalled, like she just caught a priest molesting a choirboy. As Xander and I awkwardly adjust our rumpled clothes, she narrows her eyes at me.  
  
"Typical Faith," she spits out. "The only thing you need to know about her, Amy, is that she has exactly two reactions to all situations: Kill it, or screw it."  
  
"Dawn!" Xander shouts. "Back off! This is none of your business!" He turns to me, his voice steeped with regret. "I'm sorry...I shouldn't have..."  
  
"Yeah, well, you did!" I snap.  
  
I don't want them to see me cry. So I pull the standard Faith-in-crisis routine, and get the heck out of Dodge. I hop up and scale the chain link fence at the end of the alley. My leather jacket catches on the edge, and I rip the hell out of it as I tumble to the other side. I don't care. I shrug out of the trapped jacket, and I run.  
  
Xander yells at me from the other side of the fence. "Faith! God, I'm sorry! Please...come back! Faith!"  
  
I run as fast as my legs can carry me, and all the while I bawl like a fucking baby. I hate it when I cry. I hate feeling so weak, so vulnerable. I'm supposed to be the Slayer! Some tough broad I am, getting all weepy over a guy. Me! Faith! I've had packs of smokes that lasted longer than my relationships; I discarded my lovers faster than cigarette butts.   
  
I'm so stupid...why did I let it go that far? I should have stopped him as soon as he tried to kiss me. As usual, I know exactly how to fuck up a good thing. I've screwed up any chance I have to prove to them that I've changed. But worse, now I know that Xander will never love me. I'm not what he really wants...he still wants Anya. He just wanted to drown his sorrows with a straight shot of naked Faith so that for a few brief moments, he could forget what he's lost, and he wouldn't even have to deal with a hangover in the morning. And hey, Faith never did have any problems with meaningless sex, did she?  
  
Poetic justice, huh? Xander was going to use me, just like I once used him.  
  
As I run down the street, I see a large form menacing the raggedy homeless woman I saw earlier tonight. Big horns, big teeth, big demon...ready to take a big bite out of the bag lady. She's screaming at the top of her lungs, but there isn't anyone around to help her.  
  
This is what I need. This is what I need to forget. If I can't fuck someone, at least I can kill something, right, Dawn? Time to slay...and if the motherfucker kills me, who cares? At least I won't have to face Xander and the others again tonight.  
  
***TO BE CONTINUED***  



	10. Part 10

  
  
The front door's locked, and so I can't get in. I sneak around to the back of the house, hoping the neighbor lady that I freaked out during the Patio Furniture Massacre doesn't see me and think I'm a burglar. I check the sliding glass door and all the windows. Nada. I'm stuck.   
  
I can see him through the bedroom window, cracked open an inch but lodged in the locked position. The blinds sway slightly from the cool breeze. He's sprawled on the bed, on top of the covers, still fully dressed. Well, now I know where Xander went after our little alley escapade. Big surprise - not. There's a bottle on the nightstand, right next to a wrinkled brown paper sack and a fresh receipt. While I killed the demon, he killed half a bottle and a bunch of brain cells, and now he's passed out.  
  
At the moment he's lying very still, and with the blue moonlight shining through the slats of the blinds, he looks deathly pale, as if he were some kind of offering on the altar of his sacred Dead Anya shrine. She may not have been able to claim Xander all at once, but he has been killing himself slowly ever since, sacrificing his soul to his goddess a tiny piece at a time. May Anya forgive him for his slip of Faith.  
  
I can still taste him on my lips. I still feel his hands tugging at my clothes, his hot breath on my throat, and I almost had everything I ever wanted. Almost.  
  
Stop obsessing, girlfriend! He's a fucked up, horny drunk who misses his wife, that's all. I was right to back off. Don't dredge up the pain again...um, too late. I look down at my hand, and see that I've clenched my fingers so tightly that little red half-moons of blood shine up at me where my nails have dug into the flesh of my palm.  
  
Damn.  
  
I can't stand seeing Xander stuck in his own private hell. I want to reach through the window and blanket him with my body, protect him from all the personal demons that are messing with his head. I wish I could pretend for a moment that he's mine, and that all the shit with Spike and Anya never went down. I'm so close, my breath fogs up the window, and I wipe it clear. The smooth, cool glass separating us feels a mile thick. Look, but don't touch.  
  
"Go on. You can have him," Old Faith whispers. "He won't fight it. He's so wasted, he'll even think you're Anya. You'd kinda be doing the dude a favor." I tell her to go away, but she's very persistent.  
  
As if sensing my desire, he stirs on the bed, releasing a faint moan, barely audible through the window. "Please," he mumbles, his body arching slightly as he fists the bedspread. A spark flares inside of me, lust spreading like wildfire as I watch his long, taut form shift slowly on the bed. Screw this being Good Faith crap, I want to break the window and pick up where we left off, until I hear what he utters next.  
  
"No...Faith...it was more than that..."  
  
My heart shrinks into an embarrassed little lump when I realize what he's dreaming about. He's thinking about me all right, but not our impromptu make out session by the garbage cans. He's dreaming about the night I nearly killed him.  
  
It rips me up that despite how close we've become, he can't forget. How could he? He may still have the urge to get in my pants, but I think deep down he's afraid I'll hurt him again. Ain't we a pair? Trust isn't an easy concept for either one of us. But he did let his guard down, and look where it got him. He trusted Spike, and lost everything. Why should I be any different?   
  
I've grown to love him, but a selfish little part of me resents him for complicating my life. It was so much easier when I didn't care about anyone but myself. On the one hand, I want to comfort Xander while he's in mourning, but on the other hand, I want to thrash him for sucking me into his pain and making me feel so powerless. I'm afraid all this "being in love" crap is going to distract me and get me killed.   
  
I felt more in control back when I was a loner, because looking out for Numero Uno always kept me alive and five by five. It's been a real bitch trying to get back into Slayer-mode when I have to deal with all his problems on top of my own mountain-sized pile of issues.   
  
It wasn't supposed to be like this, damn it! If Anya was still alive, I could have forced myself to remain buddies with Xander. But with her gone, the temptation is there, and I can't stop myself from playing the "what if" game again. I hate Anya. She may be dead, but she's not really gone. I have to compete with her memory, and I'll never win that game. Not ever, and I have to stop being a crybaby and face that.  
  
Breathe in. Breathe out. You can do this.  
  
I pound on the window. "Hey! Lemme in!"  
  
He jolts awake, nearly rolling off the bed. "Wh' zat?" His lids are heavy, and he's really sluggish as he sits up and rubs his face. He gets off the bed, and grunts when he bumps into the corner of the bedside table, nearly knocking over the liquor bottle. He slides the window open. "Faith?"  
  
"No. It's the freaking tooth fairy, wastoid. Stumble your ass over to the back door and open it!"  
  
"Will you promise you won't knock one of my teeth out before you give me a quarter?" he asks warily.  
  
"What? Jesus, I'm not going to hit you."  
  
"Good. Because you can punch a lot harder than I can."  
  
"You got that right, slugger! You wouldn't have gotten up if I'd tagged ya." I smirk at him as I rub the sore spot on my jaw.  
  
"Hey, I'm really sorry 'bout what happened..."  
  
We both know the thrown punch isn't the only thing he regrets, but I'm too tired to deal with that conversation right now, so I interrupt him.  
  
"You already apologized. Bygones."  
  
I wander over to the patio, stepping over a twisted lounge chair, and hear the whoosh of the sliding door being opened.  
  
"Where have you been?" he whispered.  
  
"I had some issues to work out, so luckily Mr. Tall, Dark, and Horny was there while I tried out some Slayer-style therapy. I got in touch with my feelings, he got in touch with a broken two-by-four. Problem solved."  
  
Xander's eyes fall out of his head and he looks like he wants to run into the bedroom and lock the door. Sheesh, I told him I wasn't going to hit him!  
  
"Calm down. I was talking about a demon."   
  
"Uh, yeah, I knew that. Don't take this the wrong way, but you smell awful," complains Xander as he clumsily steps aside to let me into the living room.  
  
Funny. He liked the way I smelled earlier. "What can I say? Demons smell even worse on the inside than they do on the outside." His face tells me he wants to have The Talk again, so I cut him off at the pass and tell him I need to hit the shower.  
  
I trip over something in the dark, and the thing on the ground yelps. It's a big, blonde, farm boy-shaped thing, and it looks like he's wearing a colander on his head.  
  
"Shh! I forgot to tellya, don't wake up Riley!" Xander whispers, fingers to his drunken lips.  
  
"What the hell is he doing on the floor, and why is he wearing a strainer for a hat?"  
  
Riley, still on the floor, gives me a tipsy salute. "Not a hat. Helmet. F'r protection, ma'am. Incoming!" He makes an explosion sound, and bursts into giggles. As he crawls around on the floor like he's moving through barbed wire covered trenches, I see that he's made a fort out of the couch cushions.  
  
"Oh, don't mind him, he's a total lightweight," says Xander with a dismissive wave of his hand. He wobbles and tries to steady himself against the sliding glass, but when he realizes it's still open he crashes through the doorway onto the patio with a pained grunt.  
  
I drag Xander's drunken ass inside, toss him next to Riley, and lock the door.  
  
"Hey, you know I love you, man," slurred Xander as he patted Riley's arm. "Thanks for comin' over and talkin' and stuff. You're a real good friend, and I've been real hard on ya. Sorry I got all crazy."  
  
"S'okay, Xan," Riley takes off the strainer, puts it on Xander's head, and gives it an affectionate pat. "Love you, too. You're the best, bud. Sorry 'bout Thailand. And for peeing in the linen closet, 'cause you know it looked just like the bathroom door, I swear." Xander winces and tosses the metal cookware across the room.  
  
It looks like the guys patched up some of their differences, with a little help from their friends, Jack Daniels and Jim Beam. I'm not thrilled about the pissing-in-the-closet-that-I-just-fucking-cleaned part, but at least they're talking again.  
  
"Are you two lovebirds going to make out now, because I have to tell you, you're making me hot. Wait a minute while I get a video camera."  
  
The only answer I get is manly snoring in stereo. Great. I'm home with two gorgeous drunk guys, and I still ain't getting laid tonight. At least I got to slay a demon. But getting stinky purple blood splashed all over me isn't how I hoped this evening would turn out at all.  
  
They're still dead to the world when I'm done with my shower, so I throw a couple of blankets on top of each of 'em and head into the guest room.   
Sitting on top of my futon is a brown paper bag and a blue envelope.  
  
What the...? I open the envelope and slide out a greeting card with a picture of a sad-eyed beagle on the front with an "I'm sorry" caption below the photo.  
  
//Dear Faith,  
  
I know, stupid card, but there isn't much of a selection at convenience stores. It was either the dog or the clown, and you know how I hate clowns.  
  
You were right about everything, especially about me being so self-destructive. I still want to stop feeling like this, but I promise to go about it a better way. Not sure how yet, but I assure you it will involve less booze and suicide missions - really. Except tonight. Riley and I have some serious commiserating to do, and man-to-man talks require high concentrations of alcohol, professional sports, and cheese-flavored snack foods. It's in our genetic make-up, and can't be helped.  
  
I'm a total jerk for coming on to you when you were just trying to console me. Please forgive me. I don't regret kissing you, because you're a wonderful, beautiful woman that any man would willingly amputate a body part to be with. I do regret putting you in such an awkward position when I crossed over the line of friendship. I don't want to lose you, so I won't mind if you want to pretend it never happened.   
  
It means a lot to me that you're here, and that you're trying to help. I appreciate that you're always straight with me, and that you don't treat me like I'm made out of glass and could break at any minute. Even when you make me angry, or make me want to throw up, when I'm with you, I feel alive again. Being with you makes me believe for the first time that things could get better, and I love you for that.   
  
Please know that I really am sorry, and I want you to stay.  
  
Love,  
  
Xander  
  
P.S. Not a lot of gifts to choose from at the Qwik Stop, but I know you'll really like what I picked out.//  
  
I open the bag, and it's filled with five boxes of frosted blueberry Pop Tarts. Damn it! He makes it so impossible not to love him!  
  
===== TO BE CONTINUED ======  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	11. Part 11

  
I'm in the middle of a desert, where the mid-day sun burns directly overhead, reflecting off the white sand. I'm wearing a blue, flowy, dress, and it's fluttering in the hot wind. Sound is muted here; all I can hear is my heartbeat. I shade my eyes from the searing brightness, and in the distance, I can make out a woman crouched by a large rock, beckoning to me. Ripples of heat blur my vision, but I recognize her.  
  
It's Shitface, the ancient Slayer, covered in mud and inviting me to her little cave girl tea party. I walk towards the rock, and even though her lips never move, I hear her voice whispering in my mind as I approach.  
  
"You must give yourself over to the hunt." She sways, tilting her head at me, painting invisible pictures in the air with her fingers. I can hear the sound of a rattlesnake nearby.  
  
"What do you think I've been doing?" I shout. "I'm doing the Slayer thing, not just sitting on my ass! I'm not as slick as I used to be, but I've slain a pack of vamps and a big ugly, stinky demon. Not bad for two days work. What more do you want from me?"  
  
"Surrender to the hunt. Only then will you have your prey." In the corner of my eye, I see the rattlesnake strike at me, but it freezes in mid-air.  
  
What? Give myself to the hunt? What does she mean? She wants me to work harder? Grrr. Why does she always speak in riddles? I don't have any patience for this dream interpretation crap.   
  
I checked out a Freud book from the prison library after the first few visions, and I didn't really get it. Too many big words, and not enough pictures. It didn't help me much, because I've never had any dreams where I was walking naked through a tunnel while smoking a cigar. Well, none with Shitface, anyway.  
  
"Can you just spill it, Shitface, and tell me exactly what you want me to do?" Before I can get an answer from her, a ringing in the distance wakes me up. I sit up in bed, groggy and dazed from my dream encounter.  
  
*yawn*  
  
What time is it? Unh. It's three o'clock in the morning! I barely got two hours of sleep. I hear voices; something is going on in the living room. I pull the blanket from the futon to wrap around myself before I go outside to find out why Xander is being so damned loud. Or maybe I should just go out stark naked and show him what he's missing.   
  
*evil grin*   
  
Nah, the Boy Scout is out there, too. Hmm...still tempting, but I go for the modest look and drape myself in a thick, yellow blanket as I trudge out of the bedroom.  
  
Riley's is standing in the middle of the living room, his hair sticking up at an odd angle from sleeping on it the wrong way. He's twisting a couch cushion so hard it looks ready to bust a seam. He's clearly upset about something, and at first I think he and Xander are arguing, until I look down the hallway and see him talking on the phone.  
  
"...yeah, Bleach Boy? Well let me tell you something!"   
  
Surprisingly, Xander isn't crying or having an out-of-control freak out session. He's deadly calm, his words laced with venom and hatred.   
  
"It felt wonderful when I staked Drusilla. Definitely the most fun I've ever had destroying a member of the Reflect Me Not Club. You wanna know what the best part was? When I plunged my stake into her, she turned to me, and she knew she was going to die. She had tears in her eyes, and in those last few seconds before she crumbled into dust, she uttered the name of the man she loved...Angelus."  
  
Ooh, major burn. Score one for the Xand Man!  
  
"Whoa, that surprised the heck out of me, too! Didn't she spend over a hundred years with you, Spikey? It must really sting knowing that not one, but two women you loved liked Dead Boy more than you. Must be the hair. The chicks always dig his hair." There's a pause while Xander listens to Spike respond, a tight smile on his lips.   
  
"Tsk, tsk. Such language! Do you bite your mother with those fangs? Why are you wasting my time with these prank phone calls? I thought you were a vampire, not a third grader! Why don't you come back and show me what a big scary killer you are? Or are you such a pansy-assed wuss that you can only prey on helpless children and pregnant women?"  
  
Xander looks up, only now realizing that I've entered his room. He nods his head at me, and for the first time since I've been back in Sunnydale, his face registers determination instead of defeat.  
  
"Take all the time you want, asshole. I'll be waiting," he says coolly, and he hangs up the phone. He shrugs his shoulders and takes a deep breath. "Well, guys, I'm afraid Spike's career in the hotel management industry is doomed. I specified that I wanted an 8:00 AM wake up call, and he couldn't even get that right!"  
  
Riley tosses the cushion at him, and Xander ducks. "Hey, Colonel, you're destroying the fort!"  
  
I can't believe it. Xander just spoke to Spike, and he's cracking jokes! Did I really wake up, or is this still part of the dream? I look around the room, expecting Shitface to walk out of the kitchen and say something cryptic.  
  
"Very funny. Quit mocking me when I'm hung over and tell me what Spike said!" demands Riley, exasperated.  
  
"Yeah, please tell me he's coming back here!" I know they want a piece of him first, but I'd like some one-on-one time with Spike, too. Slayer hat trick, my ass. I'm no Wayne Gretzky, but that vamp won't be so cocky after I bash the side of his head in with a hockey stick.  
  
"No, he's not coming back anytime soon. Spike wants me to fly over the cuckoo's nest before he takes me out, and he thinks taunting me and keeping me from avenging Anya will do the trick. It was working for awhile, but I'm not going to let him break me."  
  
He's so much more confident now, a radical shift from the shattered, sobbing man I held in my arms last night. There's still sadness in his eyes, but now there's also strength. Xander's not giving up anymore, and it feels so damn good...because I know I had something to do with it. Me. Faith! I reached out and actually touched someone else, in a way that didn't involve maiming, killing, or using sharp objects.  
  
"Something he said triggered all that anger, Xan. I've never seen you like that with Spike. Usually he's the one pushing your buttons, not the other way around. What did he say?" asks Riley.   
  
Xander's face darkens, and he avoids looking at me. "You don't want to know. He's a crude bastard who doesn't know what he's talking about."  
  
When Riley checks me out for my reaction, he realizes that I'm naked under the blanket and blushes. He suddenly seems really interested in the pile of magazines next to the recliner. I pull the blanket tighter around me. "He said something about me, didn't he?" Xander's eyes flash with shame, and I know I guessed right. "I'm a big girl, you can tell us."  
  
Reluctant and embarrassed, Xander relays what Spike said to him. "He asked me how I'd feel if he slept with my new...whore...before he killed her." He swallows, and looks me straight in the eye, and makes a solemn promise. "He has no right to call you that, and he won't ever, ever touch you. I'll die before I'd ever let him hurt you, Faith."  
  
Now I'm the one blushing! That's just so Xander. I'm the mighty super hero, he's just a normal guy, but somehow he thinks he's going to protect me from Spike. I want to drop the blanket and thank him with a show stopping, movie epic, no-holds-barred kiss, but I can't. Not because Riley's here, but because if I let myself go with him, I'll never be able to pull back. No amount of damage inflicted by Spike could compare to the pain I feel knowing Xander will never love me like I love him.  
  
//I won't mind if you want to pretend it never happened.//  
  
"Don't sweat it, X-Man. I'm pretty good at taking care of myself, you know." I try to sound tough, but I must look ridiculous right now, naked, red-faced and completely non-Slayer-ish with my big yellow blankie.  
  
He walks up and rustles my messy bed hair. His touch makes me shiver, and he's so close, I can't stand it. I can't ignore his soft mouth, his firm hands, and those haunting brown eyes that make me want to stare at him for the rest of my life. Guys aren't supposed to be beautiful, but that's how I think of him. Don't get me wrong, he's no supermodel, not with his scruffy beard, the huge scar on his neck and his goofy, boy-next-door looks. He has that special "inner beauty" that you're supposed to scoff at and say is a label for unattractive losers. But after knowing him I realize there is such a thing, and Xander is beautiful. He's also kind, gentle, loyal, caring...so completely the opposite of me.  
  
"You're pretty good at taking care of your friends, too," he says. "Thank you."  
  
Yeah. Friends. Right. Where's that freaking bottle, I want a swig! Covering up my disappointment, I punch him lightly in the shoulder, like a buddy would. "I should be thanking you. I've got breakfast covered for the next month! That was really sweet. Thanks, man."  
  
"So we're cool with everything, Faith?" Translation: are we ready to forget that the incredibly hot, steamy, lip-locking session ever happened, and go back to being just good friends? Is there a monster outside who can rip my guts out and turn 'em into a macramé plant hanger? Because that would be a lot less painful.  
  
Riley is squinting, and looking outside the glass door. He stiffens when he sees something. "Heads up, people, we've got company!"  
  
The front door bursts open, and the sliding back door shatters, spraying glass all over. Suddenly the room is filled with a dozen gun-toting men dressed entirely in black. My Slayer instincts kick in immediately, and I duck and cover to get out of their firing range when two of 'em level their guns at me. I hear a couple of darts whiz by, and see them lodge in the couch.  
  
One of the goons shoves Xander roughly against the wall. "We've no quarrel with ye, laddie. Behave, and no one will get hurt. We've come for the Slayer, that's all."  
  
It's a retrieval squad. The Watchers Council wants me back! God, I hate these guys!  
  
Xander twists the man's arm around, and forces him to the ground. "Back off, Scotty! No one is taking her anywh-" He grunts when a second man smashes the butt of his gun into his shoulder, and slumps to the floor. Riley is fighting with two men in the corner, but he's unarmed, and they zap him with a stun gun.  
  
Screw modesty, I'm ready to rumble with these mooks. I whip the blanket off and use it to net the two men rushing me. While they're blinded, I kick 'em as hard as I can and they go flying over the couch. Another goon points a dart gun at me, but I grab the tip and point it away as the dart ejects. I yank the weapon out of his grasp and swing it like a baseball bat, knocking him against the wall.  
  
Three commandos blink at me for a moment, startled at the sight of nekkid Slayer getting all Jackie Chan on their asses. They don't know whether to drool or run. I flip over the couch and take one of 'em out with a vicious kick to his midsection. I'm not going to kill any of these dorks, but I will make them sorry they tried to mess with me. The other two roll their tongues back into their mouths and get moving, and try to pump darts at me again. I hold up one of the fort cushions, and it absorbs the projectiles.  
  
Xander groans, gets up and punches one of my attackers, and puts the other guy in a chokehold. "Faith, I heard one of 'em call for back up. Get your butt out of here before more show up!"  
  
"No way, these Council geeks are not gonna push me around..."  
  
The kitchen window blows inward, and a canister shoots into the room. The commandos shout at each other and fix breathing masks to their faces. The room erupts with billowing gas...and suddenly...can't breathe...  
  
...choking...get out...  
  
...tired...can't concentrate...  
  
...so dark...  
  
===== TO BE CONTINUED =====  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	12. Part 12

Huh?

Where am I?

As I try to shake a bad case of the drowsy, I'm feeling quite kittenish. Not "dangerous, sexy, and ready for naughty fun" kittenish. More like weak, helpless, and shoved in a little metal cage.

Besides that, it's impossible for me to look sex kitteny when I'm wearing bright orange polyester coveralls that are three sizes too big for me, and a heavy-duty set of manacles and leg irons. Not the ensemble I'd wear to go out clubbing, that's for damn sure. On the plus side, at least I'm not naked anymore.

In the negative column, which is leading by a large margin, I'm trapped in a small cube-shaped cell, only six feet high and wide. The cage is in the middle of a cavernous metal-lined room filled with cargo containers stacked to the ceiling. The floor shifts and creaks, and the smell of salt-air permeates the room, so I can only guess that I'm on a big ship, a tanker or something. Bound for merry old England, headquarters for the Council, no doubt.

As I pick myself off the floor and look around, I see a very smug looking old dude in a grey suit standing a few paces away from my cell. His hands are tucked behind his back, and he acts like he's been waiting patiently for me to wake up. He reminds me of an owl, with big, all-seeing eyes, just lying in wait until he can swoop down and catch something in his claws. He has that infuriating, haughty arrogance that Watchers always have, like he's so much smarter than everyone else just because he's read every book in the library three times. He hasn't said a word, and I hate him already.

"Faith." He stands his ground, far enough away that I can't reach him through the bars. "I am Quentin Travers, Chairman of the Watchers Council of Britain." His voice is gravelly and joyless, and his accent is even more stuffy than Wesley's. I don't think this man has had sex since the 70's.

"Is this the part where you welcome me, ask me if I had pleasant dreams, gloat about my capture, and then tell me escape is impossible" I pat my hand over my mouth and yawn. "Wake me up when you're done with your lame bad guy speech." I don't have to worry about practicing Nice Faith for this prick.

"Come now, I'm hardly the villain of this piece. I haven't betrayed comrades, murdered innocent civilians, or conspired with evil megalomaniacs intent on attaining demonhood. Perhaps you should rethink your definition of what constitutes good versus bad."

I put on my "I'm not amused" scowl and give him the finger.

"I see years of captivity have done nothing to temper your renowned incorrigible behavior." He sighs, a hint of irritation flaring up behind his dour expression. "I regret that the use of force was necessary to take you into custody, but your past actions have given me no confidence that you would accompany us back to England on your own accord. Indeed, seeing the eight operatives injured during the retrieval mission reaffirms my belief that you are a dangerous element who must be contained. Therefore, you are being taken to London, where you will be evaluated and judged by the disciplinary committee to determine whether you should ever be allowed to resume your Slayer duties."

"What - allowed? Allowed" I pace like a tiger in my cage for a few seconds before I blow up at him. "Jesus Christ, you aren't the boss of me! Whatever mystical power in charge of calling Slayers makes the rules, not you. I really wish it was up to the Council, pal, so I could've turned down the job. I never asked for this gig, but like it or not, I'm the Slayer, and I'm gonna fulfill my sacred goddamned duty to off vampires"

"You are correct, the Watchers Council has no control over the young woman who becomes The Chosen One, but we do take our responsibility to oversee each Slayer's training, development and activities very seriously." He takes a step closer, his voice becoming more ominous. "We will not allow an unstable, treacherous rogue agent undermine our efforts to keep the world safe from demonic influences."

"I. Am. Not. Unstable." I enunciate each word and clench my jaw. "And I'm not betraying anybody. I faced up to my mistakes, I made my apologies to the people who mattered, and I served my time. You have no right to judge me."

He dips his chin and raises his eyebrows, looking down his nose at me as if to say"oh, really"

"We can judge your fitness as a Slayer, and we will. If you recall, the last time the Council attempted to detain you, you exhibited severe delusional behavior and claimed several times that you were actually Buffy Summers..."

I grip the bars of the cage. "Now, wait, there's an explanation for that. See, there was this thing-a-ma-jig from the Mayor, right..."

He continues to press me. "During your prison stay, you engaged in no fewer than 12 altercations with other inmates, and four women were permanently injured. After one such encounter, Miss LaTecia Lawrence had her jaw wired shut for three months, and required extensive facial reconstructive surgery."

I interrupt him, not liking where this conversation is leading at all. "Hey! Time out, mister. That's not fair! They all attacked me! What am I supposed to do, sit back and get pummeled? Do you know what happens in prison if you get tagged as a pushover? I was only defending myself"

He proceeds with his lecture, unphased by my outburst. "For the past five years, you have refused all attempts at reconciliation with the Council. You returned the last letter we sent to you with a sexually-explicit illustration and vivid instructions on what we could do with all future correspondence. Drawn in crayon, with several misspellings, I might add."

Heh heh. "Oh, come on. That doesn't mean I'm crazy, just that I don't like you, and that I probably shouldn't have dropped out of high school"

"Yesterday, my operatives observed you destroying Mr. Harris' property in a pique of uncontrolled rage. Would you say cursing at garden furniture and twisting it into knots is behavior exhibited by sane, rational people"

Okay, he's got me there. "Uh, no, but see there was this phone call..."

"You are a violent, unpredictable convicted felon with a history of mental instability. Just because you've been released from prison doesn't mean you're rehabilitated. Your criminal past, combined with your supernatural abilities, makes you an incredibly dangerous menace to society. The Council will take whatever means necessary to insure you are no longer a threat to the public at large."

"You want an apology, a promise that I'll behave? You got one. I'm ready to be the heroic Slayer you've been jonesing for. But you've gotta understand where I'm coming from. I was screwed up, I admit it. I deserved everything I got when I went to jail. But, fuck, I was a 16-year-old kid! My mom was dead and I didn't have anyone to help me deal with becoming the Chosen One. Just when we started to gel, Kakistos gutted my Watcher, and it was like losing Mama all over again. Things didn't get better when I ran to Sunnydale. Giles maybe I could've related too, but he already had Buffy, so he didn't need a new pseudo-kid. Then that bitch Mrs. Post, the anti-Mary Poppins, shows up and ruined any trust I'd have for you Watchers ever again. I didn't even bother trying to cozy up to Wesley. So who'd that leave me with? No one. Back then, I was a messed up kid with problems as big as Mount Everest and no one, NO ONE to turn to"

I'm so angry, I'm shaking, but I'll be damned before I open the floodgates for this jerk. It takes every ounce of control I have to keep myself from tearing up. But he's right to be concerned about me. Why should he trust me, when sometimes I can't even trust myself to do the right thing?

Travers chuckled and shook his head. "How typically American. When children commit violent crimes, simply blame lack of adult supervision and discipline, and not a moral deficit."

His face hardens, his voice tinged with righteous condemnation. "You might have been young, you might have endured unfortunate circumstances, but no one took away your ability to choose between right and wrong. You chose to cover up the death of the deputy mayor. You chose to betray everyone by aligning yourself with Mayor Wilkins during his Ascent. And you chose to torture Wesley Wyndam Price, your own Watcher, nearly to death. That was reprehensible behavior for anyone, let alone the Slayer, who we entrust to be a champion of good, who we depend on to serve and protect all mankind. You were supposed to fight the monsters, Faith, not become one."

"I'm not...I'm not..." I slide down the bars of the cage, the strength sapped from my body. "I'm not a monster anymore."

"Perhaps not. That remains to be seen." By the tone of his voice, I know Travers has already made up his mind. The Watchers will never see me as anything more than the problem child, a mess they need to clean up. "When we arrive in London, you will be assessed and tested by several psychologists..."

"Great" I snort, banging the back of my head against the bars. "Tests. I never do well on tests. So what happens if I get a failing grade"

"The world needs a Slayer. If you can't handle the responsibility...we'll make sure a new Chosen One can." He fixes me with his gaze. "Do we understand each other"

Swoop! He hooked me with his claws, just like I knew he would. Yeah, I understand completely. Either I pass their stupid Slayer tests, or I'm forced into retirement...and the only time a Slayer can retire is if she's dead.

TO BE CONTINUED


	13. Part 13

Man, I hate polyester.

The stupid ugly, orange jumpsuit itches like crazy, especially since the geek squad who kidnapped me didn't bother to loan me any undies. Sheesh, even my prison uniforms were more comfortable than this thing!

Can't say I'm loving the shackles, either. Must be some kind of super strong metal because no matter how hard I tug, they ain't even coming close to breaking. Same with the bars. I've combed every inch of this damn cage, and I haven't found any weak spots. I am stuck, stuck, stuck.

Well, at least they aren't shooting me full of drugs. With a clear head, I should be able to think of something.

"Hey. You. Yeah, you, next to the door. I'm going nuts just sitting here with nothing to do. Can I bum a smoke off ya? Or a magazine? Or make out with you? Something?" I scrape against the bars trying to get rid of that really bad itch in the small of my back.

The guard glares at me but doesn't say a word. None of the guards down here in this dank, rusty old cargo bay have ever talked to me. Guess Travers told them to keep their distance because not one of these pansies will come within 10 feet of my cage, so that pretty much kills any chance of me forcing one of them to let me out. How long does it take to get to England by boat, anyway? I mean, Jesus. I've been here for at least six hours and the jerkwads won't even let me out to take a pee. No freaking way am I going to squat on the little bucket, nuh-uh.

Aargh! I do not have time for all of this crap! Why can't the Watchers learn to mind their own business and leave me the hell alone?

There's a rap at the door. Must be tea time again, another changing of the guard. None of them stick around for more than a few hours. The guard rises from his post, unlatches the door, and looks outside.

"Neville?" He steps into the corridor and looks both ways. "Neville, this isn't the right moment for one of your jokes. Neville?"

Suddenly someone dressed entirely in black drops on top of the guard. Before the Council dude can sound an alarm, the intruder knocks him out.

What the hell?

The man in black quickly drags the guard into the cargo bay and then latches the door behind him. I can't see his face from this angle, but I can tell he's wearing night vision goggles and a communications headset.

And also that he has a pretty fine ass.

The man in black taps something on his headset. "Captain America, this is Nighthawk. Targets four, five and six have been neutralized, and I found our package. Rendezvous at the extraction point in T-minus seven minutes."

Oh my God. I can't believe it's Xander! I mean, sure, I've already noticed that he has a cute ass. It's just that I keep forgetting that he's been hanging out with Riley and playing all his commando games. Seeing him in action like this reminds me that the old Xander really has grown up a lot.

He pushes his goggles up on his head and smiles at me, his finger over his lips in the "shush" gesture before I can say anything. Next he pats down the unconscious guard until he finds a key ring. He raises it with a jangle before bounding over to my cage.

"You totally owe me for this," he whispers with a wink as he tries various keys in the cage's lock. "Between the heavy drinking last night and all the rocking this boat is doing, you're lucky I'm not ralphing all over your lovely orange jumpsuit."

"Don't think I'm not thrilled as hell to see you, but what is up with that entire package-extraction point stuff? Since when did you get drafted?"

"Keep it down." His tongue juts out a little between his lips while he struggles to find the right key. "Riley knocked out the cameras for a few minutes, but I'm betting this place is wired for sound. And hey, I'm all for yelling 'I found Faith!' at the top of my lungs but Riley gets upset if I don't use all his silly little military code phrases and gadgets."

"How in the world did you find me?" The lock finally pops and as soon as the door opens I throw myself at him. My wrists are still locked in the shackles but I try to hug him as much as I can.

"You can thank Big Brother for that. Once we learned that Travers booked passage on this tanker, Riley's old army buds were able to dial up some satellite photos." Xander gives me one last squeeze then lets me go. "C'mon, let's get those chains off so we can skedaddle before more guards show up." After a little more fiddling, I'm finally free.

I rub my numb wrists to try to get the feeling back in my hands again. "How are we getting out of here? I hope you guys have a really fast boat."

"Better than that. Trust me." He jerks his head, urging me towards the exit.

As we rush out into the corridor, an alarm starts to shriek. "Intruder Alert! Intruder alert!" yells a voice over the intercom.

"Crap! They're onto us." Xander grabs my arm and leads me down a long hallway. "Quick, this way! We have to get to the upper deck!"

As we round the corner, two men step out from behind a door with their guns raised.

"Stop! Turn around and put your hands on top of your head!"

Xander and I skid to a halt and look at each other. Can we take them?

"Try anything, Slayer, and we'll fire. Travers didn't specify that we have to take you alive."

Dammit. I can take a bullet or three, but I'm not going to risk Xander getting hurt. I raise my hands and slowly start to turn around. Xander follows my lead, but out of the corner of my eye I notice something dark and round hidden in his palm.

"Close your eyes," he mouths silently. Seconds later, as the guards lower their weapons slightly while they approach, Xander lobs the small object behind him and I shield my eyes as fast as I can.

There's a tiny explosion and even behind my closed eyelids I can see the hallway flooded with an intense bright light. Both guards scream and I hear the clatter of one of the guns hitting the floor. I whirl around and body check the guard on the right against the wall, knocking him unconscious. At the same time, Xander manages to grapple the rifle out of the other stunned guard's hands and uses it to knock him out.

"I take back what I said about Riley's silly little gadgets!" Xander says with a laugh. He's so wired into this whole rescue mission thing that he almost seems like he's having fun. I gotta tell ya, stoked Xander is way, way cooler than steeped in angst Xander.

Especially with his new sexy all-black paramilitary look. Rahr! Thank you, Riley Finn.

"Hurry, this way!" He leads me thru a few more winding corridors until we find a steep narrow staircase. The alarm still shrieks in the background, and somewhere behind us I can hear boots pounding on the metal floor.

After running up a few flights I can finally catch a strong whiff of salt air.

Xander stops at the exit and taps a button on his headset. "Captain America, we ran into some resistance. Do you have the extraction point secure?" I can't hear the reply, but apparently he's satisfied because he flings open the door and runs out into the night. There's a huge barrel here, and with all my strength I manage to push it in front of the door. That ought to slow down our pursuers a bit.

The upper deck lights are all out and a dense fog completely obscures the moon, so it's practically pitch black outside. I can't see more than three feet in front of my face. Xander lowers his goggles and grabs my hand to guide me. There are tons of shipping crates stacked all over the deck in intersecting rows like a huge maze. After a few twists and turns we run smack dab into Riley, who's standing next to the railing peering out at the murky water.

"Where is it?" asks Xander between gulping breaths. He looks around him. "It should be up by now!" Angry voices can be heard across the deck as they try to push the barrel away from the exit door.

Riley's yelling into his headset now. "Dawn, they're on the way. Tell Amy to step it up!" He pauses for a moment. "What do you mean she's having trouble centering the spell? She got us here okay, didn't she? Look, she has to open that thing and open it now or we're toast!"

A moment later a bright green glowing light cuts through the fog about 50 feet away. A huge swirling circle of light at least 20 feet in diameter is positioned over the water just a few yards to the left of the railing and it's moving towards us.

Really, really fast.

Xander stares at the portal racing along the side of the boat, dumbfounded. "Uh oh. This isn't good. Why isn't it on the deck?"

"Faith, um, just in case…can you swim?" asks Riley.

"What, like all the way back to California? Are you nuts? What if we miss?" In the background, I hear gunfire and the crackle of the barrel busting open.

"No time to argue!" he shouts as he pushes Xander and me to get up onto the railing. "Hold hands, and whatever you do, don't let go!" We all clasp hands and Xander gives mine an extra hard squeeze.

He came all this way, went through all kinds of trouble and risked his own life just to save me. And I don't doubt for a moment that my life needed saving after everything Travers told me.

I don't care what happens next; all I know is that I don't ever want to let Xander go.

The green portal is nearly upon us when Riley screams, "Jump!"

When the swirling vortex is directly beneath us, the three of us fling ourselves off the railing and disappear into the void.

TO BE CONTINUED


End file.
